Avatar
by Von
Summary: Harry defeated Voldemort with the power he knew not, a power far more valuable than his freedom. Sealed away until next he was needed, the Wizarding Saviour slept through the fall of his race, of magic and almost the world. Now he has been woken, the last avatar of a dead species and a being whose purpose is so old that only the bones of the Earth remember. (Not set during movie)
1. Avatar Prologue

"_-We're coming to you live from what's been dubbed 'The Arthurian Tomb'-"_

**click**_  
_

"_-An incredible discovery by two amateur archaeologists-"_

**click**

"_-r Patrick White has confirmed that what was discovered here is like nothing else ever found before-"_

**click**

"_-the rumours of a perfectly preserved human have spread through the-"_

**click**

"_-is now believed to still be alive-"_

**click**

"_-carbon dating of the surrounding area-"_

**click**

"_-experts maintain the object is far too recent to be the-"_

**click**

"_-no evidence of the technology used to preserve the still-living human has yet been found-"_

**click**

"_-being hailed as the mystery of the millennium-"_

Phillip Maine, one of the many senior executives of various companies that acted as the governmental branch of the country, ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered this new situation.

It was an irritation that the archaeological dig's treasure had been outed so thoroughly to the public. What had seemed like a minor discovery had unravelled rapidly into something that had almost every scientist in their employ salivating for a chance to examine.

A living human being, from centuries before the Earth was pushed over the edge. A body unspoiled, untainted by the toxins that had inevitably affected the evolution of their race, although that piece of information was beyond top secret.

But beyond that was the _how_ of the situation. They'd had their own people in and all over the site by now and the lack of technology was absolute. There was no scientific explanation for how one adolescent male apparently went to sleep in the late 20th century and stayed there. A glass coffin was his only protection from the elements and it wasn't even hermetically sealed. He should have been nothing but a pile of bones and yet once the muck had been wiped from the glass, there he was.

Alive.

Any suspicion of a hoax was laid to rest with a simple, discrete blood test.

So with no evidence of how this apparent immortality had been done, they had only one source of information left.

The boy himself.

And by now, it would be near impossible to spirit him away discretely. The whole world was fascinated and excited by his existence, the news networks capitalising on it by whipping up a 'King Arthur' frenzy. A few entirely separate extremist groups were hailing him as a saviour.

It _could_ be done, of course, if needs must. But it could very well be unnecessary. For now they would watch, and wait.

_Earth_

Harry hadn't gone to sleep, he'd been imprisoned.

The door that Dumbledore had mentioned in the Ministry – the one that lead to a power greater than any other?

_That_ had been the power 'the Dark Lord knows not'.

Love.

What a load of crap.

He'd been the result of successful breeding, nothing more. Born with the recessive gene needed to tap into the power behind the door. The accumulated life force of the entire world.

Harry's desperation-driven focus had been all that was needed. His affinity for the power had done the rest. The energy had surged, Voldemort was destroyed and victory was had. All within seconds of opening the door.

Immediately after, he'd been put down. Knocked unconscious and carried away, the door slamming shut again in his absence.

Not by Death Eaters, but the Unspeakables.

Apparently, they were Dumbledore's 'other' secret group. His inner circle, as it were. They'd known the plan. Known what he was bred for. Known what his whole life had been training him for.

And they knew the plan for _after_ Voldemort's defeat.

They'd filled him in after they woke him, already spelled into paralysis. They explained that he was _special_, that he was a champion. That the world needed him. That there were no others like him.

That they had been charged with his protection, so that future generations could call upon him in the hour of their greatest need.

They wanted him to understand, they said, since they would probably be long gone the next time he woke. They'd handled him with utmost care, spoken to him with genuine respect, obtained and stored for him all of his most valuable possessions along with sacks of gold and gems.

Then they'd forced a potion down his throat and the next thing he knew, he was waking up cold and stiff to a veritable crowd of people, not one of whom held the slightest buzz of magic.

"_No._" He croaked.

_**Earth**_

I want to try my hand at a HP/Avatar crossover where Harry doesn't run off to Pandora and grow a tail. Although he probably will go there eventually, the focus of the story is his existence on (and what that means for) Earth. 


	2. Earth 1

As always, please do let me know what you think and suggest fixes for any errors you _will_ find. :)

_**Earth**_

"Easy, lad. Everything's alri'ght."

One of the muggles, a man with close-shaven, thinning hair and kind eyes, spoke. His voice was professionally soothing, the voice of a man used to coaxing unconscious people awake.

There was something vaguely familiar about him - an accent he couldn't quite place.

"My name's Bill. I'm a nurse at the Eastern Central hospital. How're you feelin'?"

"What's the date?" Harry replied instead. His body was slow with the lethargy that comes from being woken from a deep sleep, but his mind was as sharply awake as the day the Unspeakables had captured him.

To wake now, not to the face of a familiar wizard (or to any wizards, oh god, to _muggles_) but to strangers, meant that at least part of their plan had worked.

He had slept, and the world moved on without him.

The only question was; how far? What was left of the people he'd known, his chosen family?

Were any of them even alive? Had they told their children about him?

Would he have someone to go home to?

"It's January 5th, 2145." Another man butted in, moving forward and ignoring the nurse's disapproving glare. He wore something on his shoulders, almost like the rugby armour he'd seen Dudley strut about in once or twice. A bright light shone from his left shoulder and something round and dark - and mobile - whirred and clicked and shifted from his right.

"What's your name? When did you go to sleep?" He continued, leaning forward with the sort of hunger that Colin once had, though without even a fraction of the boy's innocence.

"None of your damn business." Harry said sharply, sitting up despite Bill's hand pushing gently on his shoulder. He looked around again. The room he was in was small, but expensive looking. The entire right wall was made of glass, through which he could see the tops of trees. Far beyond them, another building - or maybe more of this one - extended from one side to the other, a wall of glass walls, shimmering blue.

Around him was a collection of muggle equipment, through with rather less wires than expected. The wall behind him hummed softly with power and a glance over his shoulder found the bottom of a large.. well, television, he supposed. One of the fancy flat ones that Dudley had been demanding, right before...

Well. Before.

It was set into the wall and showing a lot of medical stuff the significance of which he could only guess at.

He looked back at the people in the room.

Aside from Bill the nurse and the pushy shoulder-guy, there were no less than five people in suits, a couple of people dressed nicely but less formally and behind them all lurked two young women wearing the same style of clothing as Bill. More nurses?

There was a chuckle from one of the suited women. "Looks like we won't be needing a translator, at least." She noted, smiling a little. One of the formally-dressed-but-not-suited people slumped a little.

The woman stepped forward.

"Good afternoon. My name is Gillian Maine. I'm the public liaison for the United States Government, which oversees the land where you were discovered. You were brought here just under a week ago. May I ask your name?"

Harry looked around again, tried to ignore the shoulder-guy's eager shuffling, and gave his first name only.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry." The woman replied smoothly. "Please allow me to introduce everyone else and then I will be happy to answer any questions you might have."

"To my right" She gestured towards a guy who stood slightly stooped like an old man, yet his face was smooth and unlined, his hair thick and dark. "Is Doctor Maudlin. He's the Chief of Medicine here and has been personally responsible for your care."

The doctor smiled stiffly, dark eyes openly scrutinising.

"To his right is David McGregor, a representative from the RDA. They've volunteered to cover your rehabilitation and reeducation costs."

Harry eyed the man, because _that_ didn't sound foreboding at _all._ David McGregor just waved back at him with two fingers, quirking a quick smile with eye contact before turning back to a thin, transparent sheet of glass or plastic held in his other hand that flickered with light at every touch.

"To my left is Mary Schwartz, CEO of Pepsi-Cola."

…Sorry, _what_?

A woman with blonde hair and vaguely Asian features gave a tight-lipped smile, one long blue-green nail tapping restlessly against her thigh.

"And to her left is Michael. He will be your bodyguard until such time as he is no longer needed."

At this, Harry blinked.

Michael was a dark-skinned man who stood a head taller than every other person in the room. He nodded, once, when Harry met his eyes, but gave no other greeting - or expression. His suit, now that Harry was paying attention, didn't look quite as sleek as everyone else's and wasn't buttoned up in the front. Something about the lay of the material - and the fact that he was a muggle - made Harry wonder if he was packing a gun or two.

Unfortunately, Harry's experience with bodyguards came from the Order of the Phoenix. More prison guards than guardians. It was difficult to think of this well-muscled muggle as anything different.

"The man next to you is Marcus Hight," The government woman's tone turned sour. "He's with the GNN - the Global News Network."

_That_ explained why the guy got on his nerves. A bloody reporter! Which meant the thing on his shoulder was most likely a camera of some sort and had been recording away all this time.

Bloody hell! He couldn't even have a second of privacy?

Either the liaison read his expression like a book, or she felt the same way.

"Don't worry. Although he is permitted to record freely, the content will be reviewed and edited before being released for public consumption."

She went on to introduce the last two non-suited people (nurses not ranking introductions, apparently) but Harry only vaguely caught that one was a linguist and the other a historian. His head was already swimming with too many names, too much information to process - and below it all, a constant thrum of _2145 2145 2145_.

It had been 1997 when he'd been imprisoned.

He tuned out completely as he counted forward in his mind.

Plus 3 to 2000.

145 plus 3.

It had been one hundred and forty eight years.

That was longer than Dumbledore had lived.

And yet.. in a way...

He looked around again.

It didn't feel like _long enough_. Not for something considered by the Unspeakables to be priceless beyond measure, and hidden as such, to be found by _muggles_.

What _happened?_

He asked exactly that, not even realising he was interrupting the liaison. At her hesitation, he clarified.

"Where did you find me? How?"

There was a slight pause, then the woman gestured the historian forward.

The man brightened, edging around so that the reporter's shoulder camera could get a good look at him.

"After the terrorist attacks in Wiltshire, England, about three years ago, an archaeological dig found the remains of Stonehenge." The bony man babbled, more to the camera than to Harry. "It was very shocking, of course, as it had simply disappeared some time in 2050. England, which was then an independent nation, was consumed with problems caused by the climate change of the time. Radical weather shifts, climate refugees, flood migrations - the usual. By the time they could spare anyone to investigate it, all that was left were deep indents filled with chalk. It sparked quite a lot of debate amongst-"

The liaison cleared her throat.

"Oh, right, yes." The man coughed and wiped his palms on his jacket. "Well, anyway, once Weyerhaeuser inc set up their global HQ there, they became a target for eco-terrorists upset about deforestation. In 2141, they successfully detonated a bomb that not only devastated the building but tore up quite a lot of the land surrounding it. During the recovery efforts, fragments of bluestone were found - something not natural to the area and which sparked a revival of Stonehenge interest. Soon enough, an RDA-funded dig discovered the remains of Stonehenge _eighty meters_ below ground. In its entirety!"

The historian was clearly, genuinely, passionate about this. He'd even stopped paying attention to the reporter, staring wide-eyed at Harry instead.

"It was as though the stones had simply _sunk_ _beneath the earth_!" He cried, hands fluttering. "The mechanics involved, well... some people thought it was an engineering student's prank, or a different sort of terrorism - denying the country the artifact, or perhaps some sort of defacement or vandalism. But, in the light of your discovery-"

The liaison cleared her throat again, a little more sharply.

"Right, yes, right. Sorry." The man licked his lips and turned away a little, hunching.

"Anyway, the stones were removed to be displayed in greater security - and where they couldn't be so easily damaged as they had been before. The dig was abandoned and only school trips or die-hard amateur archaeologists visited it since."

The historian looked him straight in the eye, like a man beholding unspeakable treasure.

"And a couple of weeks ago, one amateur team found an _entrance_. Into an underground cave, below where Stonehenge had sunk, where you yourself lay sleeping."

He stopped then, expectantly, awaiting a response.

A response Harry couldn't give him.

Stonehenge had.. sunk? It had to have been magically done, obviously, but _why_? And all that stuff about climate change, spoken of like world war two - an unpleasant but well-known incident referred to flippantly by anyone not actually involved.

And...

"England... 'used to be' an independent nation?" He said hoarsely.

"Yes, yes." The historian brushed it aside impatiently. "After its GDP crashed, an arrangement was made with the United States - in 2073, I believe - whereby 'The United Kingdom' and all nations within became protectorates of the United States of America."

He seemed to be waiting for something more, probably an explanation, but as far as Harry was concerned, he could wait forever.

Something had happened to the world - something that affected everybody, not just muggles. Climate affected even wizards, surely. An influx of people, terrorists, changing locations... and wizards had sunk Stonehenge for some reason, but why? It was important to them, he knew that much. His history of magic books, which covered more than just goblin rebellions, had mentioned how it was a protected area in the treaty with the muggle prime minister, which was why the muggles had laws about leaving it there.

Had the English government fallen? Had the wizards taken matters into their own hands and hidden themselves and their 'territories' even further?

What had happened? He wanted to ask again, but of course, none of these muggles could have the answers. They probably thought _he_ did.

He needed a witch or wizard. Any. At this point, he'd even take a bastard like Snape over this horrible, nauseating _not knowing_.

He swallowed.

"I'm tired." He said distantly, voice still strained and hoarse like he'd been shouting.

The historian frowned and so did the liaison - the reporter looked almost angry - but it was enough for Bill the nurse to take command. With polite but unflinching authority - his accent thickening slightly, just enough that he almost sounded like Professor McGonagall - he herded everyone out, including his own boss. Only him and the bodyguard remained, although he gave the bodyguard a warning glare.

The man - the solider - just stood out of the way against the wall, keeping the entrance, Harry, the nurse and the large window within his sights.

"No worries, Harry." The nurse assured him, reaching out to help him lie back down. Harry let him, his senses floating loose and free. The nurse darted a quick look up at the telly and drew a small clear half-bulb from somewhere. It looked like a breathing mask, but smaller and without any tubing.

"Just relax and take some deep breaths for me." Bill said automatically, fiddling with the battery-like pack on the mask until it started to hiss. "I've just got some oxygen here to help you out, but if you feel tired mate, you just go on and have a nap."

He rested the mask over Harry's mouth and nose and it was only due to the fact that he didn't try to hold it there or tie it on, that Harry allowed it to remain.

It actually seemed to wake him up a little, enough that he turned on his side and raised a hand to keep it in place.

Bill placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"It'll all be alright, Harry." The nurse promised quietly. "I know yer probably scared, but everything will be okay. Yer a bit famous and that's why there's such a fuss, but the RDA has volunteered to take care of you so even when the fuss dies down, you'll still be well off."

He moved away then, and Harry's gaze fell naturally to the man leaning against the wall before him.

His bodyguard, Michael.

The man's dark eyes were watchful, but not of Harry himself.

It was strangely reassuring.

"Just sleep, lad." Bill encouraged, now standing at the edge of his bed and doing something with something else that beeped. "It'll all be better in the morning."

With little else to do except freak out, Harry closed his eyes, and slept.

_**Earth**_


	3. Earth 2

Can you spot the nod to _Dreamfall_?

_**Earth**_

Incredibly, despite spending over a century in sleep (although a dreamless, magicked sleep might not count), Harry slept through the afternoon and night quite soundly.

He woke to slowly intensifying light and the sound of birds, none of which he recognised. He was facing the window when he woke, but his bleary eyes couldn't pick out where the sun was rising from. The distant glass wall still shimmered blue and there were no obvious shadows anywhere. In the end, he could only conclude that the sky must be cloudy and so turned on his back, rubbing his eyes.

Which lead to a discovery that woke him right up.

His glasses were gone - and yet he could see. Perfectly, even, better than he had _with_ his glasses. His vision was unrestricted, no limit of peripherals whatsoever.

Stunned, he looked around the room. It was empty, save for Michael who appeared to be sleeping in a chair against the wall. He held a gun loosely, but surely, in one hand.

Had the wizards done this? He hadn't noticed it last night, but now that he thought about it he could remember the lack of glasses then, too. Nothing pressing against his nose or skull, nothing to bump as he held the mask against his face.

Well, whatever the cause, he liked it. And now, thoroughly awake and disinclined to lay about and wait for another muggle to come and talk at him, he carefully pushed aside the thin but soft blanket and slipped out of bed to go look through the window.

Or would have, had the bed not started beeping shrilly the second his body left it.

He felt more than heard Michael wake, the man on his feet within seconds and striding towards the bed, gun tucked away out of sight.

Harry flinched slightly in the expectation of being grabbed or yelled at, but the man simply stabbed at the foot of the bed with one finger, silencing the alarm as a nurse - not Bill - barrelled through the door.

The woman hesitated slightly under Michael's dark-eyed regard and slowed from a run to a walk as she circled the bed to Harry's side. Harry, for his part, slipped nimbly away from her reaching hand to be closer to the window.

"I'm sorry for causing any alarm." He apologised preemptively. "I didn't know to turn the... the bed off before leaving it. But I'm quite alright, thank you for checking."

The woman frowned a little, something not quite sour touching her expression. Harry didn't think she was offended so much as unenthused with patients brushing her off.

But he was _not_ a patient. He was just a guy who'd woken up from _a very long nap_, thankyouverymuch.

"...I'll call Doctor Maudlin." The nurse conceded after a moment and a quick glance at the telly over his bed. "In the meantime, I'll get you some breakfast."

She left before he could decline, probably banking on either her words or the guard to keep him from just leaving.

Unable not to push the issue, to _know_ where the lines were, Harry turned to his guard and flat out asked him.

"If I wanted to leave, right now, what would you do?"

The guard looked at him, glanced at the telly on the wall himself and then looked back.

"I'd escort you to stores for some street-wear and an exopack, and then I'd follow you wherever you went." He answered promptly. "You're physically well enough not to need the hospital, and my job is to protect you - not restrict you."

Harry couldn't prevent his eyebrows from raising.

That was... unexpected.

"Um.. thanks." He said belatedly. Michael just nodded once and returned to his position against the wall, apparently a man of few words.

Harry turned back to the window, hands pressed against it as he looked out.

The wall of glass in the distance was clearly a part of the same building he was in. It curved around on both sides to make a circular building. Inside the circle of glass were a bunch of slightly off-looking trees and some just-visible paved areas beneath them. He couldn't see any grass or water from here, but (perhaps more weirdly) he couldn't see any of the birds which he could still hear either.

He looked up and was somewhat startled to realise that the 'garden' was completely enclosed. Instead of a sky, there was just one high stretch of glowing-blue. A ceiling of some sort, or maybe blue-smoked glass? It wasn't transparent, whatever it was.

He looked back down, at the trees which didn't stir. Maybe that was why they looked off. No natural light, no wind and probably no rain.

Poor trees.

Then the nurse was back, carrying a tray bearing a covered bowl and a glass of water. Following her into the room was one of the suited guys from the night before. From the state of his suit and the disarray of his hair, he seemed to have spent the night at the hospital.

As the man moved around the nurse to touch a panel in the wall - which caused part of the wall to _slide out_ and form a small table with two benches on either side of it - Harry recognised him as the man representing the company that had volunteered to 're-educate' him. Great.

The nurse set the tray down, gave him a practiced speech about the necessity of finishing his meal before he could be discharged from the hospital, and left.

The suited guy sat down on the other side of the table and Michael stayed against the wall, folded arms allowing his hand to stay close to his gun.

The rumple-suited guy smiled as Harry joined him and held out his hand.

"David McGregor." He reintroduced himself with a smile, as Harry shook hands and sat down opposite him. "I figured the odds were good that you'd have forgotten me by now. We kinda hit you with a lot yesterday."

Despite himself, Harry returned the man's smile with a small one of his own.

"Understatement." He agreed, lifting the lid off of his bowl and trying not to wrinkle his nose at the soup within.

It smelled... exotic.

Still, his stomach was beginning to rumble at him, so he picked up the spoon and gave it a sip.

"How's it taste?" McGregor asked him with a watchful smile.

Harry blinked and licked his lips.

"Salty." Was his first response. _Weird_ was his internal reaction. But then, everything here was weird.

"And a little spicy... is this.. Indian or something?"

He didn't exactly know much of anything about foreign food. The stuff on offer at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament was as exotic as he'd ever experienced and even _that_ was still European. His Aunt and Uncle sometimes went out for Indian food, though, and brought some home for Dudley. The scent was kind of similar to this soup.

"Or something." McGregor chuckled. "It's called 'Curry soup' but I'm pretty sure the actual spices are grown in Australia, for all that the box art is Chinese. But I guess, that's globalism for you."

"...Right." Harry answered, taking another spoonful. He might not like it, but if it had to be eaten before he could get out, then it would bloody well be eaten.

"So, if it's alright with you, I thought I'd take the chance to explain a few more things?" McGregor offered. He seemed friendly rather than impatient, so Harry nodded.

"Great! So, as I said, I'm David and I work for the RDA. The RDA stands for Resources Development Administration and is a company that operates on Earth and in the black in a range of capacities, but primarily in mining and refinement. It's one of the largest companies in the world and provides an income for billions of people." He smiled then, a little wryly. "And if you're wondering why a company focused on development is taking the time to foster some random kid, famous or not, well it's mostly a PR thing. The RDA's name has been associated with your discovery, for all that a couple of non-associated people actually found you. Therefore, if you were left to the streets it'd cause a hell of a lot of bad press for the company, thus their generous - but not insincere - offer to take care of you."

Harry just made a non-committal sound and dropped his eyes back to his soup.

"And what exactly does 'taking care of me' entail?" He asked quietly.

"Well, him, for one." David nodded his head at Michael. "He's part of the RDA's SecOps - security operatives. He's ex-military to boot, so you're in good hands." He visibly hesitated, before continuing.

"You see, Harry... as you might be aware, a lot of people know of your existence. So for crowd control alone, you're going to need some protection. But, well... it's a sad fact that there are a lot of messed up people in the world. People who might want to kill you, just because you're a known figure. Not to mention the normal muggers, crack-heads, murderers etc that plague any civilisation. I'm sure you'll be fine!" He hastened to add. "But we'd rather be safe than sorry, and it's an easy thing to assign you a bodyguard until - at the very least - the fuss dies down and you're familiar enough with life in this time to take care of yourself."

To this, Harry nodded slowly. He did have some experience with people believing whatever someone told them, after all. If some idiot got it in their heads that he was.. oh, a vampire or some sort of demon, for being found where and how he was... then yeah, he could probably do with a little protection. For a little while.

"Good." McGregor seemed relieved. "Now, the RDA has also assigned you an apartment and put aside funds for your education. They've also put a monthly stipend into place for you to spend on whatever you'd like - we'd figured there'd be a lot to catch up on." The last was said with a conspiratorial grin that made Harry tense. This wasn't a joke. This was his _life_.

"And finally, they've assigned me to you as a sort of... case worker, I suppose. I'm your first point of contact for any questions or concerns you might have. Consider me your personal assistant for all things re-integration. Here." He slid a watch across the table. "Try that on for size, flat side against the inside of your wrist - either wrist, doesn't matter."

Harry did so, slipping it over his hand and pressing the underside of the watch against his wrist. His eyes widened as the watch beeped lowly and the strap automatically tightened until it was comfortably secure.

McGregor grinned. "I'm gonna enjoy seeing that expression, I think." He joked, fiddling with his own watch. After a moment, Harry's began vibrating slightly as it warbled a jaunty tune.

"Just tap it." McGregor advised, raising his watch hand and pressing his forefinger against his ear. Harry obeyed and, after a moment, awkwardly copied McGregor's position.

"Pretty nifty, huh?" McGregor's voice came from in front of him and, somehow, from the finger pressing against his ear.

"What-how?!" Harry exclaimed, removing his finger to examine it. There were no obvious wires snaking through his skin.

"Vibrations." McGregor explained. "Pretty old tech, but it cuts down on the amount of phones lost or left behind at restaurants. The microphone is in the watch, which is why I asked you to position it on the inside of your wrist. The phone sends the signal it receives through your hand and to your ear, if you hold a finger against it. You get better sound if you press against the hole and not the bit of skin in front of it, but it works either way. Pretty sweet, right?"

"Y-yeah." Harry couldn't help but agree, pulling his hand away as there really was no need to use it with the other guy sitting right there. He tapped the watch face again and the call abruptly disconnected. Now the classically round face displayed the time like a miniature television, with a rotating planet in the middle and glowing stars marking the time around the outside.

"It can do a bunch of other stuff too, but we'll get to that later." McGregor said easily. "For now, finish up your breakfast and I'll take you to your new place. All the stuff we found with you has been transported there, and I'll need you to confirm that we got everything so if something is missing, we can go looking for it."

Stuff had been stored with him?

Like, maybe, a freaking _explanation_ for what the hell was going on?

He lifted his bowl of soup and chugged it.

McGregor laughed again. Harry ignored him, chased the soup down with the water, then stood.

"Let's go."

_Earth_

The ride to Harry's new home was a bit odd. Dr Maudlin had arrived just as they were leaving, having apparently gone home and then been roused by the nurse when Harry woke. He was _not_ happy to see his patient leaving without his say-so, and only the quick interference of McGregor had been enough to stop the man trying to order Harry back to his room for another round of tests now that he was awake.

Harry didn't want to think about what sort of tests they'd done whilst he was _unconscious_.

Still, he was happy to have escaped into the back of a small car with dark tinted windows that McGregor had provided and be driven away. The view out the window wasn't that great - all dark steel and grimy roadways lit by the glare of aggressively neon advertisements. When he'd asked about them, McGregor had mentioned simple holograms but seemed more interested in scolding Harry for addressing him by his surname. The man kept up a stream of chatter that was just interesting enough not to be tuned out - like how most nations were governed more by corporations than by governments these days, known as quasi-governmental administrative entities, of which the RDA was one. Harry wasn't quite sure if this was a good thing or not, though McGregor - David - certainly seemed to think it was.

"Money makes the world go round, after all." David said, when questioned. "And large corporations tend to have a hell of a lot more money-sense than governments consisting of vaguely-educated people elected by popularity. They have to, in order to _become_ large. They also tend to be better with the long-term planning, too. Not to mention, they're beholden to their shareholders but they can make the hard decisions without having to worry about being 'voted out' for unpopular but necessary courses of action."

Which did actually make quite a bit of sense, though Harry _might_ have been somewhat prejudiced against governments thanks to his experience with the useless, corrupt, self-glorifying Ministry of Magic. Still. Even despite that, it felt… not quite right.

So distracted by the conversation was he (Australia, of all backwater places, became one of the first QGAE-run countries when the mining billionaires decided they wanted to still be rich after the mines ran dry) that he only realised they'd arrived when the car stopped inside an underground parking structure.

"This way." David chirped, striding briskly over to a well-lit set of doors. He passed his watch over a discreet panel, which beeped obediently and opened the door. Inside was a luxurious-looking lift, with polished stone flooring and exquisitely-carved wooden panelling.

There were no windows.

David pressed the button marked 42 (of 60 possible levels, the last button behind a glass panel) and Michael took station in a corner.

"This is an older RDA-owned building." David informed Harry, rocking slightly on his feet as the lift moved smoothly and silently. "Levels 5 and below are for vehicle and food storage - neither something you should need to worry about. Most people use public transport and the RDA built a link station inside the building for its employees - that's level 29. Each apartment above level 30 has access to automated laundry and washing facilities and the RDA will cover your utilities. Food is delivered automatically - I'll show you where - and level 40 is a shopping and dining level. Anything bought there will come out of your stipend, so be careful."

The lift slowed, then stopped, and the doors slid open to reveal a softly-glowing hallway. There were no lights - the walls themselves glowed and slowly changed colours. From about shoulder height to the ceiling, an aquarium was built into the wall and ran along the corridor. There were a lot of softly waving plants in it, but not many fish - at least, not in this area.

"Wow." Harry couldn't help but marvel. It was no moving painting, sure, but it was still magical in its own muggle way.

"Yeah, not bad." David agreed. "Its purpose is two-fold. The aquariums on all levels are part of the filtration system, although they get nicer the higher you go. Come on, you're at number four."

Harry double-took even as he realised that David was referring to apartment number, not Harry's once-home address, over a century ago.

Quickly enough, they came to door number 424 and David waved for Harry to open it, which he did by copying David's move with the lift and pressing his watch against a discreet sensor. Something solid in the door clicked, and it slid open.

They entered.

The area immediately inside the door was somewhat claustrophobic. David immediately started touching bits of the wall which slid open to reveal storage spaces (some already filled with coats and shoes, others with what looked like breathing masks, of all things) but Harry's attention was arrested by the narrow glass(?) staircase directly in front of them. It led up to a second floor, through which a glimpse of another window could be had. The stairs were free-standing and glowed softly white around the edges. Behind them and on either side were two doors - the laundry and a spare room, David explained, noticing his attention.

Beyond them, immediately behind the staircase was another door, the room behind which David said was usually used as an office - this being an RDA building for RDA workers and all - but Harry was herded up the stairs before he could go look.

At the top of the stairs, Harry stopped dead.

There was a window before him, the entire far wall was just one big window like at the hospital.

Unlike at the hospital, however, this one looked over the outside. The _real_ outside.

It was... horrible. But, in a pretty sort of way.

The air was hazed so thickly that the sky itself couldn't be seen. There were no trees - not anywhere. But what should have been an ugly expanse of steel-grey cement and metal was brightened and bejewelled by a flood of rainbow lights, carpets of holograms and strings of artificial stars that lit up the haze and connected various towering buildings. Some holograms nearby were of nature-scenes, many buildings had a sort of moving artwork projected onto them (or built into them?), like a movie screen made of cement, iron and glass. Snake-like trains curved through the air, following the strings of lights - rails? - through the city.

It was alive and vibrant. Undeniably amazing. Except...

He couldn't see the sky.

He turned around to ask if this was normal for big cities and caught a glimpse of the smaller window on the opposite side of the wedge-shaped apartment. He crossed over to look through it, passing David who was sitting sprawled on a couch, patiently waiting for him.

This window looked over an internal garden, similar to the one at the hospital, though much smaller. The windows he could see from here were also shimmery-blue. He guessed that was a privacy standard. The garden here looked a little better than the hospital one. It was higher, too, with Harry's window being just below canopy level, suggesting it started on the roof of Level 40.

Some of the leaves stirred in a breeze - artificial or otherwise - and if he craned his neck he could see the sky. Or rather, _a_ sky. It wasn't real, he could tell instinctively, but it was a pretty good replica of a powder blue mid-day sky visited by fluffy picturesque clouds. There was no sun, though like at the hospital, light seemed to emanate from above with no visible source.

It was - it _should have_ - been soothing, compared to the industrial energy of the other window. And yet, it was almost the same but in reverse. Beautiful but horrible. Because it wasn't _real_.

He didn't realise he'd said the last bit aloud until David, with a tone of surprise, answered him.

"That's right. I'm impressed you noticed. Only about a third of the plants in there are real - both to reduce maintenance and to allow them enough room and resources to grow well. All of the trees are very good fakes, though many of them have induced moss growth on them. Most of the air filtration is handled in other parts of the building and piped in, but even having a few real plants in there has added to people's reported sense of well-being, so it's a small task to keep them."

Harry didn't turn to look at him, afraid his face would broadcast the unexpected revulsion that swamped him.

A small task? To keep a couple of real plants? A flippant disregard for real greenery when the outside world - at least in this part of the country - was absolutely barren of it?

What was _wrong_ with these people?

After he felt himself sufficiently under control, he swallowed and turned back to his case worker.

"So, uh. Grand tour?" He managed.

David was looking at him with something that might have been compassion or might have been calculation, but both vanished as he leapt to his feet.

"You got it!"

Thus followed a more in-depth whirlwind tour, with Michael dogging Harry's steps dutifully. He was remarkably skilled at always being _right there_ yet never in the way.

The top floor of the apartment was the main living area. 2/3rds of the window space looking out over the city was the living/dining room, with a couple of comfortable looking couches and a low table facing the glass.

Behind that space and to the right of the staircase (with a glass railing preventing falls) was a small open-plan 'kitchen', which mostly consisted of storage space for the automatically delivered meals, the slot through which Harry could retrieve new food and some space for cutlery, crockery and cups. There was something that acted like a microwave, or so he gathered, and a small fridge, but no kettle, no cooker and no oven. With minimal equipment and the back wall being one big window to the inside garden, it was more of a designer food-prep area than true kitchen.

On the other side of the staircase and taking up 1/3rd of the top floor space was another colour-changing softly-glowing wall. This one seemed content to stay within neutral, soft colours. There were three doors set into it, the middle leading to the bathroom which David took great joy in showing him. He explained that the small tub was considered a luxury due to water shortages, but that the water treatment equipment built into the building meant that baths were something all RDA employees could enjoy.

Harry had a vague feeling that 'water treatment' meant washing in pre-used water, but tried not to think about it too much.

The mirror was pretty standard, although the built-in computer was not. David demonstrated some of the first-aid supplies, including a spray-on plaster for minor injuries and how to run the decontamination shower 'for emergencies'. When Harry asked exactly what sort of emergencies would involve having a decontamination shower built into people's homes _as standard_, he was waved off with the promise that it would be covered in his schooling.

The future was looking worse by the minute.

The other two doors led to simply-furnished bedrooms, the one looking out over the city being slightly larger due to the wedge shape of the apartment. All three walls of both bedrooms (one wall being made of glass) were glowy-walls, the building having apparently been built when such a thing was 'in' but which David said were now considered very outdated.

Back downstairs, David demonstrated how the laundry was really mostly a small room to hang up wet things or wash something small by hand. Clothing and bed sheets went into the 'in' chute and were automatically sorted, cleaned and returned to the 'out' chute within an hour.

Handy.

The office space was the largest room in the apartment, spanning the entire width of the apartment and also looking out over the city. With a desk to the left and a small set of couches to the right, it looked like the office of a rich executive - although slightly barren. Two tall pot plants stood in either corner by the window - drooping just enough to show themselves to be real, if sickly. The desk looked smooth and empty until David demonstrated how a touch _here _caused a monitor to lift silently from within, or a touch _there_ caused a keyboard of sorts to light up _within the surface of the desk itself_.

Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling. For a kid who'd received socks and clothes-hangers for gifts, as his cousin received playstations and computers, this was awesome.

And the more David gestured for Harry to try things, the more he saw and touched and _understood_, the more he realised...

This was all his.

This was his home now. His computer, through which he could explore the world in a way that not even magic had allowed him before. His sort-of-pathetic little pot plants, which he could care for. His walls to decorate (or at least fiddle with until they stopped glowing that god-awful _puce_), his couch to sit on, his...

Wait.

"Is, uh. Not to be rude - this is all incredible, and I'm grateful.." He stumbled over his words. "I just - in my time it was common, I er.. I'm just wondering..."

David grinned, then laughed.

"Hub: TV on." He called out in reply, still grinning.

To Harry's amazement, a large square - larger than the surface of his desk - flickered to life _within the window_ and began displaying a news channel with crystal clear quality.

"Bloody hell..." He breathed, much as his best friend would.

That was.. it was just...

"Amazing."

He caught himself and glanced away, a little embarrassed. David was _still_ grinning, clearly having a ball introducing the normalities of 22nd century life to a kid from the 20th century, but even Michael had an amused tilt to his lips.

"Sure is." David agreed. "Now the 'hub' is basically your apartment's main computer. It's what you use to change anything - ambient temperature, opacity of the windows, tv and music channels/volume etc. You can change the name of it - 'hub' is just the factory default and changing the name can help prevent annoying visitors from messing with your settings. Oh, and it can detect what room you're in, so if you command the tv on, it'll only switch it on in the room you're in. Or, you know, off. Whatever."

He caught the question before Harry even finished forming it.

"Yeah, all the windows are tv-enabled. And they switch off when you leave a room by default (and on in the room you enter), though you can change that too if you want."

"Wow." Harry just replied, dazed.

"Yeah, wow." David smiled, then became a little more serious.

"Now, there's just one room left - the store room. And that's where we put the stuff we found with you."

He didn't need to say more. Harry left the room at a run, both doors sliding open for him automatically.

The walls in the store room all began to glow as soon as he stepped inside, revealing a pile of stuff that looked kind of grotty, despite obvious attempts to wipe them down.

A few sacks, a trunk - not his old one, but a fancy-looking stone one - and on top, a single piece of parchment, folded and sealed with wax.

He reached for the wall as his knees went weak, but found Michael at his side instead, supporting him silently.

"We didn't open any of it." David said softly from behind him.

If there was any magic left to them, they probably _couldn't_ have.

He felt for them, hesitantly, more frightened than he'd been since waking.

If even these, precious relics of his old life, had faded...

But no. They were warm to his inner senses, their humming subdued but still _there_. Still magical.

He staggered forward, Michael moving with him, as he reached one shaking hand for the letter resting on top.

_Harry Potter_ was written on the front, in a slightly spiky cursive that he'd recognise anywhere, after years of it correcting his homework, unasked.

Hermione.

His throat closed with grief as he gripped the letter with one hand and broke the seal with his other.

_To my dearest Harry,_

_If you are reading this, then we have failed you, and you are alone._

_The last of wizard-kind._

He crumpled, a sob wrenching from his throat as his lingering fear was mercilessly proven true. He barely felt a hand on his shoulder - Michael? David's voice was a blur in his ears. The rest of the letter illegible through his tears.

It was over. His life, stolen from him. All for nothing. Not even selfish wizards to be used by.

He was alone.

_**Earth**_


	4. Earth 3

_**Earth**_

_To my dearest Harry,_

_If you are reading this, then we have failed you, and you are alone._

_The last of wizard-kind._

He crumpled, a sob wrenching from his throat as his lingering fear was mercilessly proven true. He barely felt a hand on his shoulder - Michael? David's voice was a blur in his ears. The rest of the letter illegible through his tears.

It was over. His life, stolen from him. All for nothing. Not even selfish wizards to be used by.

He was alone.

The letter crackled warningly as he fisted it, the parchment old and close to brittle. Most of the magic in it had been used to protect it from prying eyes and with the seal broken, it would soon fail entirely. When that happened, the letter would most likely crumble to dust.

He opened his eyes and blinked sharply to clear the moisture away, struggling to focus on the letter before it was too late. He didn't notice Michael moving until the large man had already picked him up, his movements swift and impersonal as he carried him back upstairs to the couch - probably on David's direction.

Too distraught to be embarrassed, Harry just slid onto the couch and hunched away from them both, curling around the letter.

_To my dearest Harry. _

_If you are reading this, then we have failed you, and you are alone._

_The last of wizard-kind._

_Oh Harry, I am so sorry to have to lay this upon you. There are days when I hope that you will never wake, just so you need never read this letter or feel the pain I know you will feel._

_It is April of the year 2025. I am 45 years old and I will die soon, just as all witches and wizards will die. First our eldest, then our youngest, then those of us in our prime. The general public doesn't believe it - won't believe it. You know what they're like. But we of the Unspeakables know, and there is nothing we can do to stop it. It's already too late._

_Yes, I joined the Unspeakables. As soon as I graduated Hogwarts, I sought entry to their ranks with a mind to use their resources to search for you. It was only after years that they saw fit to inform me that it was they who had taken you, and why. _

_Oh Harry, I knew then the rage that you have told me about. The righteous fury. With wand in hand, I rampaged through the department, casting every spell the war had ever exposed me to._

_I didn't find you before they put me down. And Harry, I swear to you that I searched. For over a decade, I worked to gain their trust. To reason, to coerce, to beg them to let you free. _

_And then, I confess, I lost heart. I looked at the world around us - the festering wound that was Wizarding society, beginning to hate muggles once more for the changes starting to occur in the world. Their inability to self-discipline. The propaganda masquerading as truth, the children raised to be insular and ignorant. _

_How, even if I had the ability, could I return you to them? Even if I could convince you to run to another country... with your friends and family in England - three of whom named their first sons for you - would you be able to stay away? Would I free you from slumber only to enslave you to an impossible society?_

_When my department first became aware of the fate before us - wizards and muggles alike - they came very close to activating the protocol that would wake you. It was I, forgive me, who argued against it. You were not a god, I said, but a wizard whose greatest strength was a noble soul. The reason they had taken you - the reason for your victory against Voldemort - was powerless now. _

_For the reason our death approaches us, is simply that the power you can harness is dying. Any part of it you would take to do whatever it was we could think of would only hasten the world's demise. That is why we wizards will die before the muggles - the energy of the world flows through us more strongly than in any non-magical being or object. Like a body shutting down high-consumption organs in a last-ditch attempt to survive, so too will our species - all magical species - be shut down before any other. _

_Following us will be the most defenceless -the endangered life, followed by the undomesticated life, until only our world's most clever creations - the muggles - are left. _

_We can only pray that they who triggered our fate can also fix it. _

_If they cannot, then life will continue to be drained from the world. One day, Harry, you will wake, with or without the spells needed. I don't know what the world will be like then. All the greatest seers work for the Unspeakables, but how can they see when their medium - magic - is gone from the future? _

_To that end, we have left you what small things we can to help you. Precious stones and metals have been added to your tomb. Concise books of history and magic have been locked within your trunk, though I warn you that the wizard way of magic will drain the world and should not be used save in absolute emergencies. _

_To that end, I urge you to look instead to the ability for which you were sealed away. It is, we believe, the reason why you will survive long beyond the spells placed over you. It is, perhaps, the last hope of our world, even if all other life on it must first perish._

_I beg you not to blame it, for the evil done to you in its name. Wizard kind is foolish and selfish - __**you**__ I have never known to be so. _

_I love you, Harry, and I miss you terribly. _

_Although there are some days that I hope you will never wake, there are others when I am glad that when you do, it will be to a world without wizards._

_We did not deserve you._

_All my love and support,_

_Hermione Granger._

Hunching into himself even further, Harry wrapped his arms around his legs, buried his head and just shut out the world for awhile. His mind spun between the mental image of Hermione visiting his sleeping body - _and leaving_ - and the mental image of everything and everyone he knew, dying. Just dropping to the ground, or maybe getting sick and passing away in their beds. Ron and his family, a group of fire-haired and fire-tempered people just fading away as the world died and tried to self-correct.

Hogwarts, a school with a thousand years of history, of children growing up and learning and laughing - just gone. Empty and hollow, the magic leaving the paintings just like they were leaving the parchment in his hand. The stone staircases silent and unmoving forever. The fires in torches and hearths, gutted and cold. The house-elves, gone. The mer-people, gone. The centaurs, the giants, the veela - even the phoenixes. All gone.

And to him, it had only been a matter of days. Hours, really, if you only counted the time he'd spent conscious. Hours, for an entire civilisation, a species, to crumble.

When at length he came back to himself, the sky outside was a blanket of colour, the smog lending itself to beauty as the sun streaked through it in rich oranges and pinks, purples and blues.

The mood in the room was quietly respectful, as Michael leaned against a wall once more and David sat on the other couch and watched the telly with the sound off.

It wasn't until Harry shifted, moving his feet to the floor and scrubbing his face with his sleeves, that either looked over.

"Would you like something to eat?" David asked quietly, when Harry made eye contact. Harry shook his head, refolding the parchment but unwilling to let it go. Unable to speak, he simply stood and trekked back downstairs to the store room.

The sacks were stiff and almost petrified, held together more by the accumulation of clay-like muck than the protective magic once cast on them. The strings holding them closed frayed and snapped as he tugged them open, revealing glittering rubies in one and gold in another. He passed the rest of the sacks and opened the trunk - or tried to. He felt the magic within it tingle with recognition at his touch - stone kept magic better than cloth or paper - but lifting the lid was another thing. It was still stone and stone was _heavy_.

"May I?"

Harry turned. It was Michael, who'd followed him automatically but stood back awaiting permission to approach.

Harry nodded.

Strong arms joined his and heaved, the top of the trunk sliding away once lifted from within.

His firebolt rested on top, diagonal to fit in the trunk. His invisibility cloak was folded and rested on top of a box which had **Potions** carved into the wood. The left side of the trunk was filled with books, the top one of which was his photo album.

He picked it up, opened it and almost started crying again when the pictures inside failed to stir. He leafed through it, but every still, faded photograph was like a kick in the guts, reminding him of what he had lost. When he got towards the end, where newer photos depicted the lives of those who had grown up and passed away without him, he closed it.

"Is everything there?"

David was obviously trying to be respectful, but Merlin... Harry just wanted to punch him in the nose. Or, failing that, hex him stupid.

"I, uh. I just need to know. For the record." Why couldn't the man just shut _up_?

"I don't know." Harry said coldly. "I wasn't involved in packing it and it doesn't seem to have come with a list."

David cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to... Sorry." As Harry didn't reply, he continued. "Look, why don't you get settled in tonight? Michael can help you with anything you might need and I'll pop by tomorrow, say, lunch time? There are still a few things we need to discuss, a couple of meetings to go to. That sort of thing."

Harry grunted, which was taken as assent and David made a hasty exit. For a while, Harry simply worked in silence. After the second book that tore too easily in his hands, however, he made a noise of irritation that was close to anguish.

Michael cleared his throat and suggested scanning everything that _could_ be scanned, so Harry could still have the content even if he lost the originals.

It was a good idea, though Harry knew he's grieve the loss of the books themselves more than the information in them. Still, with his bodyguard's help, he moved all the books to what he had decided to call 'the study' and painstakingly helped the computer copy them. This mostly consisted of turning the pages for it, as the scanner was capable of making identical copies of what it could see in only seconds, _and_ capable of recognising new content and only scanning when the content was legible. Many of the books were ruined by the end of it. Chunks of pages breaking off or coming away on his fingertips like dust. Some, like the photo album, had more magic inside them and fared a little better, though even the album's leather was cracked and brittle.

Michael showed him how to work the computer, as quiet and calm about it as he was everything else. He even showed Harry how to encrypt the file, to give himself some basic privacy in case someone ever went snooping on his computer.

Harry wasn't ignorant enough to believe it truly secure, though. Even in _his_ time, computers had been far from unhackable and if his computer could access the internet, then he knew that other computers there could access _his_.

The thing was... he was just _this close_ to not giving a shit.

It wasn't like he'd be facing time in Azkaban for breaking the statute of secrecy, after all. In a way, this was the only revenge he could have against the people who'd denied him his life.

By the time it was all done, it was well past midnight. The room was awash in the unceasing glare of the city's rainbow lights - even more powerful without the dim sun to compete with. Harry shut the computer down and replaced the remains of the books in the stone trunk in the store room, intending to never open it again. The potions box was in his bedroom, along with his firebolt and cloak.

He'd offered his bodyguard first pick of the bedrooms, since both creeped him out in equal measure. Michael just gave him a long, considering look and chose the one facing the city. Whether he picked it for his own sake, or for Harry's, was unclear.

Still, it meant that when he went to bed, he didn't have to order the hub to dim the window. The artificial garden was experiencing artificial night. Artificial stars sparkled above it all and artificial (or at least, heavily filtered) air gently coursed through his room via a hidden vent.

If he burrowed under the covers, he could pretend he _wasn't_ the last magical being on the face of the planet. That he _wasn't_ alone. Somewhere out there, there had to be survivors.

And some day, he'd find them.

_**Earth**_


	5. Earth 4

At this point I'm predicting around 20 chapters in Earth Arc and maybe 5-10 in Pandora Arc. Frankly, Earth is a lot more fun to write about. Oh, and thank-you to _charliepotter13_ for being the sole person, of everyone who faved or put this fic on the alert, to review! You are a champion!

_**Earth**_

Phillip Maine, one of three CEO's of the RDA, glanced down at his pile of notes. All of them were short-term plastic-laid digital screens for security and most of them were for show.

And to disguise certain others.

One of which was a simple rendition of a brain, with colour washing through it to indicate activity and barely comprehensible information scrolling unendingly down the side.

It was a live stream of the RDA's new semi-human, one Harry Potter.

The week they'd had the boy in hospital had been more than long enough to take samples and implant a few security features. A homing beacon, which could be triggered remotely. A standard miniature health monitor, which would contact emergency services should any of a half-dozen biological processes show signs of failure.

A not-so-standard cranial net, implanted under his scalp and over his skull, constantly monitoring the most fascinating aspect of the boy. His brain.

It wasn't even the simple fact that his brain was slightly _different_ than normal that had their chief expert, Dr Maudlin, so enraptured. It was that the entirety of his brain showed persistent activity, with inexplicable surges that seemed to have neither cause nor affect in various areas.

The brain being such a tricky thing, it was nigh impossible to test properly without the boy's consent.

Failing that, his ignorance would have to suffice.

Another sheet held a brief list of what the researchers assigned to the boy's history had found. Handily, the boy himself had added the contents of his books to his computer. The history books had been the most immediately useful but all Phil needed to know right now was contained in one curt list.

There once had existed a sentient, humanoid species on the planet which could do 'magic'. They no longer existed, save for Harry.

And Harry was very aware of his vulnerable situation

Excellent.

_Earth_

The muggles had colonised other planets.

Harry lay sprawled on his couch, staring at the lounge's large television with an expression probably pretty close to Dudley's whenever _he_ watched telly.

Stupefied.

But really, who could blame him? Michael had been watching some kind of documentary channel when Harry woke up - early enough to catch the dawn, his mind just too unsettled to sleep well. Harry had washed up, tested his ability to order breakfast (he only managed some sort of soup, again. He really needed to find a manual for the machine) and sat down just in time to catch the next show, a history of man's exploration into space. He'd been looking for a distraction from the pit of grief and anger inside him and had found the show to be unexpectedly helpful in that regard.

They had colonies on the moon _and_ on mars! Mostly for the few workers on the factories and mines, respectively, but still. In only one and a half centuries, they had people living on another planet! Two, in fact, as the show continued and Harry's barely-touched soup cooled. There was a planet - or maybe a moon, he wasn't sure - around 4-something light years away that also had a small colony of miners on it. The photos of _that_ were incredible.

Real, actual, alien life on another world. Amazing!

The show glossed over the living planet rather more than Harry thought warranted, considering the detail it had gone into for the uglier colonies on the moon and Mars, but maybe that was just because the one on Pandora was so new? According to Michael, it took six years to travel there, even at the speeds their interstellar ships were capable of. It used to take a couple of decades, before unobtanium was discovered, mined and refined - some sort of super-ore that was only found on Pandora. Harry hardly cared about that, save that its existence made getting to Pandora easier and faster. When he asked about how much it cost to go there, though, Michael almost busted a gut laughing.

"Every grunt and their mother wants to get _off_ that rock and _you_ want to _go_!" He chuckled. "Though I guess, from here, it _is_ pretty exciting."

Harry sat up to face him more fully.

"You've been?" He asked incredulously. The man smiled, white teeth flashing in a rarely open expression.

"Oh yeah. I was one of the first out there, which is why I got this cushy job once I rotated home. Bodyguard pays a hell of a lot more than grunt, and compared to Pandora the danger is a hell of a lot less, too."

"What was it like?" Harry asked, pulling his legs up to cross them on the couch, completely captivated.

Michael, an arm resting over the back of the couch and one ankle crossed over his knee, considered it.

"Hot. Humid. Claustrophobic. Boring." His pensive look melted into a small grin. "Exhilarating. Mostly of the pant-wetting variety. In between the boring bits."

Harry couldn't help but grin back, though he rolled his eyes.

"And when you _weren't_ on duty?"

Michael snorted. "On Pandora, kid, you're never _not_ on duty. But, even if we were..." He moved one hand in a so-so gesture. "You're pretty much confined to base, which is only fun for the science geeks who actually enjoy messing around in the labs. It's a five-year rotation, plus 12 years transit time and you only get paid half-wages for the transit so by the time you get home you feel like you've lost a decade of time and only have a small amount of bonus money to show for it."

"So, no tourist options?" Harry checked, causing Michael to grin again.

"Naw, kid. Only geeks and grunts get to go to Pandora. Sorry."

Harry shrugged, disappointed but trying not to show it. Why had he even gotten so excited? Was it just the 'life on other planets' thing, or was it some form of escapism?

In the back of his mind, he was self-aware enough to know he was probably associating 'strange and wonderful' alien life with his exposure to _other _'strange and wonderful' (magical) discoveries. Being aware wasn't enough to dampen his desire to go, though.

Whatever, it couldn't be done and that was that. Well, unless he directed his re-education towards becoming a scientist or a soldier, both of which he really couldn't see himself as.

He was just trying to remember how to tell the telly to list the channels when a small chirrup sounded.

"Hub: Show door." Michael commanded instantly. The window popped up a small secondary image showing David - freshly suited and shifting nervously - standing outside the apartment's door.

Michael relaxed somewhat, but still got to his feet and slipped back into the more professional personality he'd shown yesterday. He left to open the door, then followed David back into the lounge. Harry watched them over the back of the couch.

"Hub: TV off." He ordered.

David offered a tentative smile. "Hi Harry. Shall we get down to business?"

Harry nodded. The night's sleep had settled him a bit, especially if he avoided thinking about everything he - and the world - had lost. It was oddly easy to just live in the moment, with only the occasional sucker punch of emotion sneaking up on him.

Well, until now, that was.

David moved around the couch Harry was on and tugged the other so it was semi-facing him, with the low table in between. He rested a slim briefcase on top, out of which he pulled the same glass-like thing he'd been using that day at the hospital. It must be some kind of mini-computer, since their watch-phones were a little too small to be useful PDAs.

"Okay." David said briskly, tapping away on it. "Now, one of the RDA CEOs wants to have a chat with you after this-"

"What about?" Harry interrupted, honestly puzzled. They'd let him out of the hospital, where it would have been easy to keep him if they'd thought there was anything interesting about him. Quarantine, inoculations, a reported vegetative state - easy. So if they hadn't, then...

"Probably about your status as a semi-human." David replied absently. If Harry had been drinking anything, he'd have sprayed it all over the man. "We've been keeping that aspect of you pretty hush-hush, as I'm sure you'd understand."

He looked up finally and frowned a little.

"Is... that a problem?" He asked hesitantly, probably because if Harry looked half as horrified as he felt, he wasn't a pretty sight.

"S-semi-human?!"

David winced. "Ah. That was meant in a completely non-derogatory way, of course." He apologised. "It's just, we don't really have a word for your species yet and your blood-work was strongly suggestive that your species _was_ an off-shoot of humanity, rather than the other way around, so..."

Harry ducked his head and waved his hands, eyes closing as he scrambled to think.

"Wait." He said harshly. "You're telling me I'm... not human?"

David's eyebrows shot up, before he closed his eyes and made a short sound of pain..

"Oh, _please_ don't tell me you didn't know." He groaned. "I am just screwing everything up lately, aren't I?" The question apparently rhetorical, he continued. "You're not _not_-human, you're just... a different _type_ of human. Like.." His eyes moved as he thought quickly. "You know how people in different areas evolved slightly differently, creating different races of humans?"

Harry nodded silently. Yeah, kinda.

David smiled like he'd found the winning argument. "Right! Well your blood work basically shows _that_, plus a little more. Too differently evolved to be considered just a different race, but not so evolved as to be considered inhuman. Just - different."

"...Right." Harry answered, unable to stop himself shifting slightly into a more defensive position. Why hadn't he searched for his wand last night?

"And what does my... 'difference' have to do with your CEO?" He asked suspiciously.

David blinked.

"Well.." He replied, baffled. "History, technology, culture... you name it, the RDA'd like to know about it. I mean," he started grinning a little, as though the answer was so obvious as to be a joke. "you're not a mutant or anything. Your DNA indicates a stable, established pattern of development, which means you weren't a singular event. You have indicated yourself that you didn't set up your little resting place, and that things were added after you went to sleep, implying the involvement of others."

He shrugged.

"And we know of no other person in the world who bears your evolutionary traits, nor is there any record of any in the time in which we _think_ you originated. So somehow a group of people existed outside of public record and had the capability to do what no-one else could - put a person to sleep for at least a hundred years and not have him age or die. We also suspect that they're the ones behind the sinking of Stonehenge and a few other unsolved disappearances."

He grinned again, open and eager.

"Frankly, Harry - we're fascinated by you. Even if all you can tell us is defunct now, we still really want to know."

Harry, for his part, just stared. Maybe some part of him had always believed that Muggles finding out would lead to disaster, because he found himself now struggling to grasp the fact that he wasn't already in a laboratory somewhere.

"And.." He swallowed. "And what purpose would that serve? What-" he floundered. "What could you possibly hope to gain? Power? Because-"

David eased back into his seat, setting his little computer down as comprehension softened his expression.

"You're afraid." He said softly. "Man, I hadn't even thought of that." He checked himself, shaking his head. "Which was stupid of me." He admitted. "I should have. If we have no records of you, it's probably because your kind were in hiding. Which would logically lead to a disinclination to be discovered."

He rubbed a hand over his face and grimaced apologetically.

"I'm sorry. Again. But seriously, you don't need to worry. Although we're burning with curiosity, we wouldn't have gone to all this trouble" he waved a hand at Michael, the apartment, Harry himself "if that curiosity was the creepy illegal type."

And, despite himself, Harry believed him.

Because he was right. As Harry himself had thought earlier, there were many ways in which they could have easily spirited him away from the hospital. But they hadn't.

And even though his first reaction to being discovered was still pretty close to outright alarm...

Well. What could it hurt? There were no wizards to punish him, or to be exploited by muggles. And even _he_ was essentially neutered - assuming he could even find his wand - by the dying planet.

He swallowed.

"Okay." He said softly. David looked relieved.

"Great. And, uh, when you do have that chat with the CEO... maybe try to down-talk this whole foot-in-mouth thing I've got going on? I've got a review coming up."

_Earth_

They didn't take a car this time. David led them down to the tenth floor, which looked sort of like a glitzy subway station, except instead of walls papered in ads, there were walls covered in glowing _holographic_ ads.

The liaison led the way to a small oval bubble-like pod, made of some sort of dark and shiny plastic. It opened automatically as they approached and David was quick to close it behind them again - right in the face of a startled woman.

Inside the pod was an oval, one-piece seating area which faced outwards. David leaned over it to tap at something in the center, then collapsed onto a well-padded seat with a sigh. Harry sat down two seats over and was vaguely surprised when Michael sat next to him, instead of looming off to the side.

Then the pod was moving, and the world lit up.

It was...

Incredible.

The carpet of lights he'd seen from his apartment was now more like an ocean. Above, below, around - everywhere he looked, images swum and glittered, words flickered and blurred together, a flock of blazing white doves morphed into a frothing, blue-green wave crashing against a golden beach.

It was crazy, and nonsensical and kind of garish. And yet, he couldn't take his eyes off of it.

David touched his arm once or twice, getting his attention. He pointed out a two-story woman on the other side of the pod, who leaned close enough to touch and pressed a perfect kiss to the outside of the plastic.

Harry swallowed. Her breasts had been... very realistic-looking.

A branded burst of cloud above them rained diamonds the size of his head. An ocean of bubbling-black pepsi-cola beneath their feet made him briefly nauseous. Some kind of animated cat bounced and sang silently. A smiling blonde woman placed a sparkling mask over a small, smiling blonde child. A tall man who shuddered and flickered, tossed a pointed ball into the air and stared at a point half a foot to the left of Harry's eyes.

By the time the pod slid smoothly into the dark cavern of another building, Harry was thankful.

The wonder had somewhat faded, buried under sheer sensory overload. Even now, as the pod slid to a halt and the three of them stood, he couldn't help but blink his eyes against the glowing lines remaining in his vision.

"You okay?" David checked, smiling a little, like Harry was either confusing or cute.

"Fine." Harry asserted firmly. He was neither, thank you. David nodded and lead the way once more as Michael fell back to shadow Harry.

The room they were in looked like a foyer, with a dozen black openings around the outside for other pods to glide in and out of. A round desk in the centre circled a cluster of elevators, which were only accessible once the desk personnel cleared you. The woman David led them to eyed Harry with open curiosity, but said nothing as they brushed their watches against the panel she pointed at. Once in the elevator, David explained that the security system was automated. Anyone without clearance got shocked, anyone without a watch attempting to pass was detected, security was summoned and the elevators wouldn't open.

The seven or so people at the desk were mostly just there to answer the phones and direct visitors, apparently. Harry found that difficult to believe.

As their elevator climbed, flashing past layer after layer of office space, Harry had to wonder just how much business they did that they _needed_ seven receptionists on at one time.

Especially considering the foyer was _deserted_ when they'd arrived.

Before long, the elevator stopped and opened onto another large open space, this one filled with tables and chairs.

"Dining level." David shared lowly, weaving through the mostly-empty furniture. An elderly waitress caught sight of them and hurried away. Harry followed David to an area sectioned off by potted plants. A handful of Michael-like men stood around like hired goons in crisp suits. Behind him, Harry felt his own Michael tense - a prickle of battle-ready energy at his back.

A bald man in a comfortable, expensive-looking suit stood up as the trio neared. He looked at Harry and smiled, a polite and welcoming expression. He ignored David and Michael both, holding out a hand to shake.

"Phil Maine, CEO of the Eastern division of the RDA." He introduced himself, his large hand warm and dry and it firmly shook Harry's.

"Harry Potter." Harry replied simply, as the man stepped back and gestured for him to join him at his table. He did so, even as he noticed the bald man's other hand flick his fingers in a dismissive gesture, something David obeyed instantly by leaving and Michael ignored utterly by staying.

"A pleasure." The man finished the greeting pattern, raising a finger to summon a waiter. "Would you care for anything? Fruit juice? Steak?"

Harry hesitated, but the bland slop of breakfast _had_ left him hungry for something with actual taste.

"Perhaps some juice? Any kind." He answered politely, speaking more to the waiter than the CEO. He had sort of picked up the idea that in this time period, real food was an expense - and he didn't want to go and order orange juice or something and then later find out that orange trees were endangered.

"Same again for me." The CEO ordered. The waiter thumbed a thin bit of plastic the way Dudley used to text on his mobile phone - though the waiter did it with rather more dexterity - and left.

Harry glanced down at the large-ish sheets of plastic littering the tabletop. The transparent material seemed to be a replacement for paper, with each slip being interactive and digital and displaying all manner of things... but then why have so much of it? Why not just use one sturdy multipurpose one like David did?

"How do you like your apartment?" Phil asked suddenly. Harry looked up, feeling a bit awkward. His apartment suddenly felt like a very expensive gift, particularly now when faced with the giver.

"It.. it's good." Harry said weakly. "I, er, like the plants." He rallied a bit. "And the tv-window thing - that's pretty cool."

There was a pause. The waiter returned with two cold-frosted glasses containing a yellow-pink liquid, set them down and then left again.

"Uh, thank you." Harry added, wincing a little internally. He sounded like an entitled little snot, or an ungrateful one at the very least.

"I can pay you back for it, I think." He continued, whilst wondering if he actually could. If the world really was circling the toilet, an apartment in a building with aquarium walls and an indoor garden surely wasn't cheap.

"Oh no, no." The CEO dismissed him, sounded a little more at ease himself now that they were talking about money. "A little place like that is good write-off for taxes. Besides, inflation what it is right now - I'm not too sure you could, son."

"I have... some money." Harry protested. "I don't know how much, but..."

"You had some gold and gems, according to the official report." Phil interrupted, tapping one of the sheets of plasti-paper next to him. "Quite a good chunk of it too, but I'm very sorry to say that they just don't hold the same value now that they did in the 20th century. They have more value as belongings of _yours_ than they do as raw materials in today's commodity market."

Harry deflated a little. It was one thing to _wonder_ if he had enough money - it was another to _discover_ that he really didn't. He found himself chewing his lip slightly, eyes lowered as he rapidly recalculated the situation.

"Son, it is not our intention to be threatening or intimidating." Phil continued, perhaps seeing the tension in him. Despite his words, his tone was strong - almost overbearing. "But the fact of the matter is, you _need_ the RDA. You're alone here, in this time. By your own admission, nothing remains of your old world. We will gladly provide you with a home and education as part of our civic duty, but if you'd consent to helping us out a little in return, we'd gladly compensate you with a generous stipend. You wouldn't ever need to work, if you so wished."

The CEO paused, looked at him thoughtfully.

"It could be that you're worried that if you admit to being different from normal humans, we'll have you cut open in a lab before you can blink." He said calmly. Harry flinched.

The man chuckled.

"Son, I don't know what sort of things went on in your time, but we're a bit more advanced in this day and age. We already know that there's something about your DNA that isn't like everyone else. We also already know we can't replicate it. And there is _nothing_ that cutting you open would solve."

He leaned forwards, hand clasped together on the table. Harry sat back a little.

"We just want to _learn_ about you, about your history and your people." The man continued cajolingly. "It could be that what you know or what you can do can help us now or in the future. It could be that it can't. But regardless of that, or when you were born or your genetic makeup, you are still a citizen and have every right as such. We'd really like it if you could help us out, but we don't have any right to _demand_ it. All we can do is ask - and offer incentives."

Harry sat completely back and wrapped his hands around his glass of juice. What the man across from him was saying sounded really good on the surface, but...

There was just _something about him_ that rubbed Harry the wrong way. Something in the way he spoke too much, maybe. Something in the practiced body language but awkward words - though that might be just a total lack of needing to speak to teenagers prior to now.

Still, whatever was putting his back up, the fact remained: Harry _wasn't_ in a lab somewhere, being promised freedom in exchange for co-operation. He was in a nice apartment, fully set up with access to food and education and being promised _extra money _for co-operation. He had been assigned a bodyguard who, despite working for the company, was dedicated enough to ignore one of the CEOs silent commands and stick around.

Maybe they were trying the 'honey over vinegar' approach, but the fact that they were even doing _that_ was a point in their favour, surely?

And, in the end, what did Harry really have to lose in cooperating? Maybe, by sharing what little he knew of the situation, he could even _help_ - even if it was only adding impetus to the muggles' own attempts to reverse the damage they'd caused.

Lifting his glass, he took a slow sip. It was a weird mix - something like pineapples and maybe strawberries or raspberries. More sharp than sweet.

"I was born in 1980." Harry said slowly, glancing from the plastic sheets to Phil Maine's sharp eyes.

"When I was eleven, I was invited to attend a boarding school for witches and wizards."

The man's eyebrows went up slightly, more in encouragement than surprise or disbelief.

"We learned all sorts of things." Harry continued carefully, testing his way along. "How to make potions that could re-grow all the bones in a limb overnight. How to turn someone into an animal. How to turn someone inside out."

He stopped, watching the CEO's expression. The man had years of experience over him, though. Harry couldn't read anything.

"We were a pretty small people, I think." He changed the subject a little, skirting the more violent aspects of magic. "We were hidden from the normal world by law, but we were governed by a ministry that was _technically_ part of the muggle - the normal - government. I think. In reality, though, our ministry did whatever the hell they wanted."

"You sound a little bitter." Maine noted, leaning back himself and taking a sip of his own juice - apparently enjoying it more than Harry had.

"Well." Harry said quietly. "Corruption and incompetence were rife, though I didn't realise it till recently." He frowned. "I-I mean.." He stumbled over the words, as his treacherous brain reminded him that 'recently' was over a century ago and the ministry would never again be a problem.

"I know." Maine said quietly. "Please, continue."

Harry took a deep breath and obeyed.

"When... before I went to sleep. Like, just before. We were in a war, sort of. Not all-out like with armies and such, but there was a man who had a large group of followers and every one of them was as murderously evil as the next. They considered wizardkind to be the supreme beings of the world and resented having to hide. They wanted the muggles to either serve them or die or.. or something. I don't know. They didn't exactly put out a pamphlet."

The CEO's lips twitched.

"Not the most organised of terrorists?" He asked wryly. Harry looked up, considered, and smiled.

"No." He agreed. "But, maybe that was the way Voldemort wanted it. All 'pureblood' this and 'filthy muggle' that - nobody actually thinking about it, just obeying in the expectation that whatever they personally wanted would end up happening."

He shook his head.

"Anyway. This sort of thing was apparently normal for wizardkind. The wizards - in England, at least - were very insular. Not just living in secret but living entirely separate from the normal world. Their magic made everything easy - even the poor could live well, if not extravagantly - so they never really had much need to advance. Whilst the outside world made strides towards social self-improvement - using other nations as allies and competitors - the wizarding world just got more and more narrowly focused until they were basically blind to anything other than themselves."

He was drawing heavily from Hermione's rants, by this point. Once the 'war' had heated up, his best friend had been quick to point out that killing Voldemort would only stall it. Her passionate assertions that the _real_ conflict was in their society _breeding_ such extremists had fallen on mostly deaf ears.

The wizard-raised really were simple people at times. Good and Evil were reason enough for people to do what they did, now pass the pumpkin juice if you please.

Anyway, all that was neither here nor now. Literally.

"I ended up destroying Voldemort, with a type of magic that only I could access." Harry admitted in a rush. "And from what I understand, the leader of my side of the war had a contingency plan in place for when I did. Because I was the only one who could access that special power, I was..."

"Put on ice." Mr Maine concluded. "For the next time some evil wizard showed, I'm guessing?"

Harry nodded slowly, watching the man more closely than ever. This would be the time when he'd most expect to be carted off by needle-happy scientists.

"So why did you wake up now? Or was it our interference that caused it?" The man continued thoughtfully.

"It could be." Harry shrugged, unnerved by his almost disinterested tranquillity. "Although I'd wager that the only reason you even found me was due to the concealment spells failing. And they failed because..."

He hesitated, then continued. He wanted all cards on the table, right now. He didn't want to live in paranoia, always watching what he said just in case he hit the tipping point that got him locked away.

"Because all the magic in the world is failing." The words felt like rot, falling from his lips. It felt like there should have been some sort of leach of colour in the world around him as he spoke, some acknowledgement of the horror of what he was saying.

The CEO took another sip of his juice.

Harry continued, speaking faster now, angry at the man's unconcern.

"Magic is more than just a force we used to change the world and each other - it was more than glamours and sentient plants and unicorns and dragons - magic was... _is_..."

"'The excess energy of a thriving world.'" Maine recited calmly. "Or, so my top scientists have theorised... _after_ being convinced that no, seriously, magic is real." The man cracked a small grin, inviting Harry to relax a little. But, on this topic, he just _couldn't_.

"That's right." He replied sharply. "The _excess_. Extra energy that wasn't needed for anything else. But, something happened to the world - something upset the system and the world stopped making excess energy, or rather - it started using everything it had just to survive."

"And so the plants and animals of the world that needed that energy to survive - including wizards - started dying, huh?" The man concluded again, as though he knew the subject just as well as Harry himself - or more.

"How do you..?" Harry began to ask. Phil just shook his head sympathetically.

"We've seen this before, son. Over and over. Somewhere in the world, something happens. I dunno, a heavy rainfall causes a lot of plants to grow. Or flooding leaves lots of patches of still water. Suddenly, all the plants and animals that feed or breed in that water don't have to fight for space anymore. Suddenly they have all the food and breeding space they could want, and their population skyrockets.

This might happen for only a season or it might go on for years, but one year the rain _doesn't_ come. The floods don't repeat themselves. The water is all used up or dries out and suddenly there's _too much_ life trying to exist on too little resources. Most of that life just dies out."

Harry stared at the man, wondering if he was honestly trying to sell the _extinction of his race_ as just 'one of those things that happens'.

"Aren't you worried?" Harry blurted, unable to hold it in.

"About what?" Maine raised an eyebrow.

"About your own lives - your own species!" Harry stood sharply, his chair sliding back in a shower of angry red sparks that he didn't even notice.

Everyone else did.

"My kind died first, but _yours_ will follow us eventually!" Harry raged. "You might not need the energy of the world to survive, but almost everything else on the planet _does_! Trees, animals - your food and air and drinking water are all part of a system that is _dying_, do you understand?"

The man just looked up at him, inhumanly calm - even a little bored.

"Yes, I do." He replied quietly. "Quite a lot of us 'muggles' do, in fact. Oh, we might not use the words 'magic' or 'energy', but we know very well that our planet is dying. We know that it has reached the point where it struggles to maintain basic ecological systems - we have survived as long as we have because we can build our own. We can import energy, in a way, to our world. It might not enter the planet, but it enters the systems that keep us alive."

Harry swallowed tightly and sat back down, not even realising that Michael had pushed his chair forward for him.

"Don't you care?" He whispered. "Don't you care that the world is dying?"

The CEO was expressionless. Harry waited for an answer that never came.

"Then what do you want from me?" He asked finally, utterly defeated. "That power I can access is nothing more than the energy of the world - not the excess on the surface, but the core of it. There's nothing I can do to fix this, not that you apparently even _want_ to. So what do you want from me?"

Silence, then:

"I would like for you to continue living." The man answered at last. "I would like for you to learn as much about this new world as you can. I would like for you to work with us in the future, to hopefully find a solution that neither of us has right now."

There was another silence. Harry just felt hollow now, resigned. He may have slept through his people's death, but it seemed to be only a matter of time before he joined them. Then, only the muggles would be left - clinging to a dead rock in space, kept alive by their technology, their caricature of cleverness.

The man shifted a little, adjusted his expression into something resembling kindness.

"Try not to worry about it for now." He said soothingly, voice deepening. "The world might seem a bleak place, compared to what you're used to, but really we've made some pretty good strides towards repairing it already. Get McGregor to show you the Eco Activist Network - they've got a lot of groups working on preservation and restoration. Once you've settled in, you might find an area you can really make a difference in."

The CEO stood then, adjusting his suit and collecting his little plastic files. Harry just watched him, caught somewhere between utter contempt and bleak disinterest.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today, Mr Potter." The man said formally, his bodyguards shifting around him in preparation to leave. "If there's anything else I can do for you, just let McGregor know."

Harry watched him leave, angry and upset and apathetic all at the same time.

David sidled back into view, visibly anxious.

"So, how'd it go?" He asked.

Harry closed his eyes and the glass held loosely in his hand shattered spectacularly.

"Oh." David said faintly. "That good, huh?"

Harry sighed, trying to ignore the juice soaking into his jeans.

"I just wanna go home." He muttered. He opened his eyes to David's understanding expression.

"Home it is." His liaison agreed, helping him up and brushing the fragments of glass to the floor, quickly checking his hand for cuts before leading the way to the exit. Harry didn't correct the man as to what he meant by 'home'.

He followed David silently out through the still-empty dining floor. The elevator that took them down was empty too, but the foyer was reasonably crowded when they exited at the bottom. Michael stepped up then, one hand wrapped around Harry's arm, the other ready to shove people out of the way (or snap their necks, whatever it was bodyguards did), following quickly behind David who skipped the queue for a transport pod and managed to snag them one to themselves again, this time to a chorus of angry voices.

The ride home was silent. The glare of holographic light made Harry feel sick, so he pulled his legs up onto the seat and tucked his head down until they reached their building.

As soon as they reached his apartment, Harry nodded apologetically to Michael and David both and went to his study, locking both men out. Alone inside the large room, he crossed to his desk and sat down behind it, eyeing a holographic image protected above the black glass surface. It was a replica of Hermione's letter which had, just as Harry had predicted, crumbled to dust at some point the night before.

Brushing his fingers through the intangible thing, missing the original already, Harry felt a contrary sense of peace.

There was freedom in resignation. Knowing that death was inevitable was sad, but it was also a relief. Knowing that there was nothing he could do for the world removed a weight from his shoulders that he hadn't even known was there. If there was nothing he _could_ do, then it wasn't his job. Wasn't his fault. Wasn't his responsibility, last of wizardkind or not.

He was really about five seconds away from just curling up on the couch and letting himself go, something he was barely aware of and yet somehow knew he could do. With the world like it was, even a 'special' breed of wizard such as himself, fed directly from the core, could be cut off if he so willed it.

It was only an absent thought, a desire to see something green and living that had Harry make a command which would change his life - and the lives of everyone else on the planet.

"Hub: Show image: Pandora." He ordered. The hub chirruped as the window-tv displayed multiple images - only one of which was the moon-planet Pandora he had intended and not various boxes, women or advertisements for perfume.

Harry stood from his desk and moved to the window, tapping the image he wanted.

"Full-screen?" He asked, smiling a little when the hub obediently flooded the entire window with the insanely high-resolution image. Now, instead of looking out over a dying world, he was looking at a slightly-stretched image of a very much alive one.

He moved to the small one-man couch, pushed it against the far wall, then sat down to enjoy the view.

"Only scientists and grunts, huh?" He mumbled to himself. He'd spent 148 years sleeping - what was six more?

_**Earth**_

_Yeah, I know that 'race' is now being argued to be a social construction and not a biological result of differing evolution (in any way beyond having red hair or brown eyes makes you part of the same race) but as a term that groups cultural and physical traits, I don't think it's going to fall out of fashion._


	6. Earth 5

_**Earth**_

Harry slowly cooled off during the hours he spent in his study. He researched Pandora, clumsy through sheer unfamiliarity with technology, daydreaming about finding other magic users on the lush planet (the computer could call it a moon all it liked, it was gigantic and supported life so it was a planet) who could send him back to his own time. He kept reflexively turning to look for Ron slacking off or Hermione chewing the inside of her cheek as she researched much more efficiently with a book as thick as her leg. Every time sent a spike of pain, of loss, through his heart. He couldn't help but choose to think of this whole thing as some sort of temporary adventure. He'd find a time-turner, somehow make it work and go back home, to either die with his friends or somehow pull off a rescue of the whole world. But in the mean time?

Pandora.

He really wasn't remotely interested in becoming a soldier. He'd spent enough of his life fighting, being moved around like a powerful, conscripted chess piece, so that was right out. He spent some time investigating whether there really _were_ any tourist options for the planet. Moon. Whatever.

Unfortunately, Mike had been correct in that regard. The only company flying to Pandora was the RDA, which had mining rights. It seemed crazy to Harry that they wouldn't utilise such an obvious tourist trap, or even think about colonisation considering the cesspit that Earth had become. After a while he accidentally discovered that the air on Pandora wasn't actually _breathable_, which seemed to explain the lack of five star resorts.

So, tourist trips and soldiering were out.

That left science.

Which, on the upside, was something Mr Maine seemed to _want_ Harry to study, seeming to think that the more Harry knew about it, the more useful he'd be. Which, okay, sort of made sense.

Maybe, he wouldn't have to be super smart? Maybe just knowing the basics and _being magical_ would be enough to get him a seat on the next flight out. Hell, maybe if he just asked, he'd get a seat anyway.

_It costs 1.2 million dollars, per person, to go to Pandora._

Hmm. Okay. Maybe not.

After a while, Harry had pretty much resigned himself to just learning what he could with a focus on the sciences of the time. A brief browse for the eco activists mentioned by the CEO just got him sites full of hate for the RDA, the government and (it seemed) anyone who was in any way working for them, so he stopped that line of inquiry pretty quickly.

He wondered if that had been Mr Maine's intention.

A few hours after locking himself away, Harry gave in and asked Michael to show him how to access the education software.

_Earth - 1 month later_

Because Harry was born almost two centuries ago, the RDA required him to complete the entirety of their formalised education series - from pre-primary on up.

The education program itself was pretty good. It would run on the window-tv as well as his computer monitor, reacting to voice commands as well as touch, allowing Harry to continue using it even as he walked around the room, sprawled on the couch or lay on the floor. Apparently the program was designed to adapt to the learner - it kept track of how quickly Harry learnt things and through what method - audio, visual, written, exploration or a combination thereof - and tailored future lessons to include those methods.

As a result, Harry blitzed through most of primary school within a matter of days. To be fair, most of the curriculum hadn't changed _too_ drastically. 2 + 2 was still 4 and the colour red hadn't been re-named 'oura' for example, but it was surprising just how much _was_ different. Harry had never really considered Primary school to have been responsible for much 'real' knowledge, and yet apparently a hell of a lot was supposed to be learned there.

Like how the animal and plant world 'worked'. Mildly simplified local and global history. Simple circuits and other energy systems - some that had been invented long after he'd been put to sleep. Laws and how to behave in society. Even 'how to think' when confronted with advertisements or emotional or non-vocal manipulation. Had this stuff really been taught in school when he was a kid? Some of it seemed familiar, some of it he just 'knew' without knowing _how_ he knew but a lot of it was new and, embarrassingly, interesting. Somehow, the education program made muggle primary school more interesting than most non-practical magic classes he'd been to.

He slowed down when the program hit Late Primary. There was a lot of maths that he was absolutely certain had never been _hinted_ at in his primary school and the science was _surely_ Secondary level by now. Sometimes the sheer mass of stuff he didn't know made him feel small and dumb - he was sixteen, he should _know_ this stuff!

Sometimes it helped when Mike - who really did have a cushy job, considering he spent almost every day in the lounge room watching TV or doing weights in his bedroom - reminded him of the obvious: That a lot could change in 140-odd years.

Mostly, though, Harry just put his head down and kept going.

It was after a week and a half of dedicated study that he finally hit his limit. He wasn't progressing quickly anymore and his brain was complaining at all the new information. After being unable to focus long enough to even finish reading a single paragraph, he took a break.

He spent the next few days doing nothing but channel-surfing. Mike introduced him to a zero-G sport involving some sort of jet-pack and a lot of violence but it was utterly incomprehensible to Harry.

Although he didn't realise it, this was another form of education - on culture. The time he spent watching 'Mary Jane' caught him up on this time period's Oprah equivalent. The sci-fis, the soap operas, the 'trash TV' and the sitcoms... slowly he learned what was going on in the world through entertainment's reflections. He was exposed to the humour of the time, the music, what was 'boner' (another word for 'cool' apparently. One he wouldn't using.) and what wasn't, what was fashionable and what wasn't (though he wouldn't be able to pass a test on that) and who was who in the world of entertainment.

Mike joined him for most of it, throwing out little bits and pieces of information and anecdotes without care, all of which were built into the new network of information that anyone living was expected to know. For the most part, Harry wasn't consciously aware of the importance of the information he was sponging up.

He learned that Europe was now almost completely farmland, utilised not for any one country but for the food needs of one fifth of the globe. Other countries such as Africa and Russia were similarly given over to almost pure food production. The climate changes had ruined some nations, but allowed others to prosper. Previously arid countries were now almost lush. The entire Singaporean belt of islands was underwater and the UAE - once the United Arab Emirites - was now simply the name of a chain of floating man-made islands in that area, each the size of a city whose main export was algae.

Australia had been subjected to massive terra-reformation and was now two separate giant islands instead of just one. The Americas had suffered land loss due to climate change and also a loss of arable land due to over-farming. The dense city out Harry's window was on the new coastline, about half a state away from the city of New York - which was now mostly underwater and had been renamed 'New Venice'.

Global disasters such as volcanoes and hurricanes had actually _decreased_ in severity, after the initial hammering during the worst of the climate change period. Current science was promising weather-controlling stations, permanent leisure colonies on the moon and hinting at the discovery of an Earth-replacement planet 16.27 light years away.

Complete-immersion artificial reality technology existed, but was prohibitively expensive to install and run, so most people just had to book in some time at a dedicated game centre downtown - Mike promised to show him some time. When it came to entertainment, in fact, there seemed to be a shocking amount of it on offer. Over 6000 tv channels to choose from, a massive amount of free and paid gaming programs and machines, a couple of hundred different globally-recognised sports, a mass of hobbies that didn't involve leaving the house...

Which, Harry realised after a while, was exactly the point. The best way to hide the fact that your world was going down the toilet was to encourage people to never go outside and see it.

Time continued on and Harry finally worked out how to operate the food-ordering machine. It turned out that the soup was a pretty standard fare - it was nutritious and available in a range of flavours - from oatmeal to roast pork. It was also available in amounts that Harry could never possibly eat all by himself and was free to RDA workers. Technically, it gave employees a guarantee from starvation. All other food items in the delivery system were rationed tightly - one piece of fruit per week from a list, although extra fruit could be purchased from the shops on level 40 in limited quantity. The _price_ of the fruit was so obscenely high that Harry had all but dragged Mike over to the screen to confirm it - asking comparative questions to try and work out the equivalent cost in his time, before inflation.

It was _still_ obscenely high.

Mike had shrugged, just a tiny bit baffled, as though thinking that _fruit_ being a luxury item was an obvious and normal state. It _literally_ grew on trees!

Except, apparently it didn't. Mostly, it was grown in high-density greenhouse-like labs. After requesting a pear from his weekly allowance, and tasting it, Harry believed it.

There was just something wrong with it. The texture? The shape was... rounder. And it didn't taste like a pear so much as _pear-flavoured_.

Harry couldn't stand more than a few bites, increasingly put off by an impression of eating nothing but chemicals, but luckily Mike was more than happy to accept his ration.

Harry had also poked around his bathroom a little more. He'd had a bath a couple of times, but mostly just washed himself in the sink rather than take a full shower. The decontamination shower doubled as a normal shower, apparently, but the large black circles that lined the inside of the cramped space frankly creeped him out. He wasn't sure what he was nervous about - it wasn't like they'd kill him, probably, or make sudden loud noises or have cameras hidden behind them...

Yeah, he just felt a little better avoiding it, was all.

After another week of lounging around, avoiding the shower, discovering internet shopping and, accidentally, internet porn, Harry had had _quite _enough of his glowy-walled apartment.

Without even realising it, he'd been holed up like an animal licking its wounds. He hadn't ventured outside because in a world of loss and unfamiliar things, his apartment was the closest he had to his new normal. To familiar, to _safe_.

But no more. Harry had always bounced back from massive psychological blows. Sure, he retained a dent or two, got a little broody for awhile and sometimes had anger-management issues, but Harry Potter always put his head down and carried on.

Besides, even Mike and Harry's combined fiddling hadn't been enough to make the walls stop glowing puce.

Harry, feeling out this strange new freedom where _he_ decided where he and his guard went, suggested the park. The speed with which Mike leapt to his feet and gathered his jacket suggested 'about freaking time'. 

Harry preceded the man down the glass stairs leading to the entryway, brushing his fingers against his watch to make sure he was wearing it - apparently, it was also his wallet. Having now seen enough modern sitcoms to know that 'masking up' was as common a procedure for leaving the house as putting shoes on, he went ahead and opened the small section of wall by the door which contained disposable masks, taking one out for himself and one for Mike.

Mike himself touched the wall next to the stairs, small ovals lighting up around his fingertips before a new section opened. Harry stared at the array of weapons it revealed, weapons which were now disappearing into Mike's casual clothing with alarming ease.

Harry had never seen Muggle weapons up close before - excluding the gun Mike had had in the hospital. Here were guns and more - knives of several different types, small round discs, some sort of wire, bits of a machine that seemed capable of fitting together, even...

"Grenades?!" He yelped, unable to help himself.

Mike paused, looked at him, then almost sheepishly put them back.

"Yeah. I suppose we won't need them this time." He admitted, touching the wall again so that it closed. Considering the man was already packing enough weaponry to take out a small village, and they were going to the park, Harry considered that to be somewhat of an understatement.

Raising his eyebrows slightly, he paused to let Mike go to the front door first, where the man did something to a tiny screen there - plugging it into his watch, which was a bulkier gauntlet-like version that could do a lot more than Harry's could - before allowing the door to open and preceding his charge into the hallway.

There were more fish in the aquarium today and someone had set the walls to a soothing, blue-green. Harry trailed after Mike as he watched the fish, glad to see something so alive despite the fact that the fish themselves were tiny, plain, silver things.

When they reached the elevator, he jumped forward to call it. The action felt a little childish - unfortunately only _after_ he'd already done it - but a discreet look over his shoulder showed Mike to be in full 'professional mode', with no expression except perhaps watchful readiness.

The lift opened silently and the two entered, Mike manoeuvring to keep himself between the doors and Harry even as he tapped away at his gauntlet-watch. Harry silently lifted up onto his tiptoes to sneak a look, but could only make out a small set of letters being pressed with impressive speed and precision.

"I'm checking in with McGregor." Mike explained without looking over or giving any other sign that he'd been aware of Harry's silent prying.

"Oh." Was all Harry had time to say, before the lift slowed abruptly and the doors slid open once more. Mike watched the two people who entered the way Hedwig used to eye her soon-to-be dinner, but Harry tried a small polite smile from his place behind him. The woman smiled weakly back as she pressed a button but the man just arched an eyebrow at him.

Mike's stare never wavered, however, and the man quickly looked away with a small swallow. The woman inspected her nails and the silence between them all hummed loudly until the lift stopped again - only a few floors down - to let them out.

"I also got him to key your watch into the public transit system." Mike said, as soon as the doors closed behind them. "We'll have to take the link into the RDA hub, then go down a floor and catch the shuttle out to the park."

Harry nodded absently, wondering if the couple had been staring at _him_ or just staring at a teenager with a very obvious bodyguard. The elevator went silent again and he was just thinking that maybe elevator music wasn't so bad after all and how come this elevator didn't have any, when Mike touched his arm lightly to get his attention.

He looked up into serious, dark eyes.

"I just want to give you a heads up." The man said quietly. "I don't think parks today are like what you remember." He hesitated, seeming to want to say something else, but didn't. Instead he turned forwards as the lift slowed abruptly once more and the doors opened to the indoor subway station.

Well, _over_way station, he supposed.

There were a lot more people milling about purposefully and their single-minded dismissal of every other person around them struck a nostalgic chord in Harry's heart. It was just like being back in the London Underground.

This time Mike stuck close to his side, somehow projecting an invisible get-the-hell-out-of-our-way field that let them slip through the crowd without Mike having to lose sight of him. They joined a pod full of people heading into the RDA office - most were seated but a few were standing around peering intently at little glass PDAs like what Dave used. Every single one of them appeared to not even notice the advertisements glowing and frothing outside as the pod glided smoothly from one building to another. One woman who was seated and had no PDA in hand just sort of stared flatly into space until the blackness of the RDA building enclosed them, whereupon she stood like a well-oiled automaton and filed out with everyone else.

Seriously. London Underground. Transplanted 150 odd years into the future.

He could just _hug_ them all.

_Earth_

Mike had them put on their masks once they reached the public terminal inside the RDA building. Most people milling around had larger, more permanent apparatus. Some of them had emergency pure oxygen supplies attached, but Harry and Mike's were a relatively simple stretchy-band event that simply filtered the pollution from the air as they breathed in... a more intense, plastic-y version of a surgical mask, he imagined. Harry fiddled with his a bit, the sensation taking a little getting used to, and tried to distract himself with the view from the train's - _shuttles_, they called them - windows.

Unlike the sleek pod they used before, this really was a _train_, albeit one whose track ran along the roof. An elongated sardine can that looked and rattled like it was made out of tin foil and reinforced with positive thinking. Every now and then, Harry could see air through gaps in the floor.

Mike didn't seem concerned, so Harry tried to feel confident about being in a speeding metal box of death, high above the ground with neither broom nor magic to catch him in the event of an accident.

...he wasn't too old for accidental magic to kick in, right?

_Earth_

Mike was correct.

The park wasn't what he'd been expecting.

For one thing, there was no grass. None. At all.  
Not even the little scraggly stuff that normally poked up between paving slabs. Not even fake grass.

The entire area was hard and black, like an airport runway. Children hung from a mess of tired-looking coloured pipes to the left - not one of them screaming or laughing, just quietly playing - and others played in painted areas on the right. The smallest children just clustered at their parent's feet, running toy trucks or blocks or dolls along the ground. The parents just smoked - pulling aside their masks for each drag - or wearily spoke amongst themselves.

The park was fenced in by four massive sky scrapers set out like a pentagon missing its base. There were no actual trees, but at some point someone had done their best to paint a forest scape on the walls facing the park. It was tired and flaking.

Harry turned to the presence at his right.

"Really?"

His ever-present bodyguard just inclined his head, watchful eyes continuously scanning the crowd for trouble.

"This is one of the better ones." He said lowly, voice carrying no further than it needed to. "Parks are old-fashioned and they don't get funding. This one is maintained by the people who live in the buildings around it. I've never been here before, but I've heard about it. One of the biggest in the city."

At this news, Harry's jaw simply dropped. He turned again to look out over the dingy, dying, sad excuse for a recreational area.

"Not even weeds..." He murmured. Mike was silent.

Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shifted his weight. He didn't want to be here anymore. What was the point? The only thing less relaxing would be stuffing his head into a bucket of cement.

Rhythmic noise slowly caught his attention and he stood on tiptoes to try and find the source. About 100 meters away, at one of the other entrances, he could just see a bunch of flat things being shoved up and down into the air.

"Let's go see what's happening." He said, already moving. Mike followed in his wake as Harry picked his way through various clusters of children and teenagers, the older ones bent over glowing devices which he could only assume were similar to mobile phones.

As they got closer, the rhythmic noise resolved itself into the recognisable chant of protesters trying to stir a crowd.

In this example, they were failing.

Men and women in faded green shirts were waving painted sheets and cards in the air as they shouted and called to people entering and exiting the park.

"_Bring back The Green!"_

"_Change the future - today!"_

"_What have __**you**__ done for the world lately?!"_

There seemed to be little control, with some members of the group just shouting slogans aggressively whilst others tried to plead with passer-bys for money or time or attention. Most people were avoiding eye contact and hurrying past. A few outright glared at them and some seemed to change their mind about entering the park entirely. One lady yelled something about hypocrites and a brawl between her and a green-shirted young man broke out in a heartbeat.

Mike had Harry against a wall and behind him before Harry could even process the fight had begun. He wasn't sure the protection was justified - he was a good fifteen meters away and not involved at all. What was the worst that could happen? Death by uncontrolled poster-board backswing?

"_**Break it up**_!"

Harry peered around Mike's protective bulk just in time to see a woman made of muscle with short spiky hair barrel into the fight. She wrenched both participants apart and, despite wearing a green shirt herself, rounded on the man.

"_I've had it up to _here_ with you, Jacob! This is _exactly _the kind of shit we don't need! Piss off back home, __**now**__!"_

The man obeyed, shooting both women a sour look as he went. The skinny thing he'd been fighting opened her mouth with a nasty look on her face, only to have muscle-woman round on her. "_And __**you**_ _can piss off as well!"_

For a moment, it looked like the remaining brawler would take _her_ on too - despite being a head shorter and a third as built - until some kind of sense kicked in and she left with a snarl.

The rest of the green shirts barely paid attention to the whole thing. Spiky-haired woman looked around warningly at them, before her eyes caught on Mike and she paused.

Then stormed over.

"Er..." Harry tried, as his bodyguard tensed a bit in readiness.

"The _fuck_ are you doing here, you crazy bastard?" The woman bellowed, mouth twisting into a smile. With an energy bordering on violent, she threw an arm out which Mike caught in a handshake, hand-to-forearm.

This close, Harry could see that her hair stuck up because it was thinning and very light, rather than chemically aided. Also, although the roots were black, the tips were bright pink. Harry privately thought she looked a bit old for that kind of hairstyle, really.

"Working, Mads." Mike returned, no more raising his voice to her than he did Harry. She reacted to that by lowering her own, glancing over his shoulder at Harry once.

"Babysitting? Sweet gig." She quirked her lips, half mocking and half congratulatory.

"It has its moments." Mike replied easily, dropping her hand and never, ever, letting Harry out of his peripheral vision. "I see you stuck with the tree-hugging crap."

The woman snorted. "Feels like I do more fighting _here_ than back in the fold, sometimes." She retorted. She looked tired - bone tired - for a moment. Then she shook it off and directed her full attention to Harry.

"You interested in joining the movement, kid?"

Since she addressed him directly, Harry made a move to step around his guard - who very reluctantly allowed it.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about it." Harry replied politely, surprised to see _her_ surprise once he began to speak.

"That's an old-school accent there." She shot a look, lightning fast, over his clothes and then to Mike and back. "You old-school money too?"

Harry shrugged, thinking of the piles of rubies and gold sitting in his apartment. Of the reduced value they held. Of a Gringotts vault he probably couldn't even find anymore, assuming it still existed.

"More old-fashioned, than old-school." He moderated. 'Mads' licked her lower lip as her eyes slid from him to Mike and back again.

"Right." She replied smoothly, leaning back and crossing her arms.

"Well, if you're ever looking for something to do with your spare time, look us up." She directed him. "We're listed as 'The Global Liberation Front' but I'm trying to change that. Goddamn stupid name if you ask me, but there it is."

"And what do you do?" Harry asked, glancing over at the people still chanting and badgering people for money.

"More than _that_." The woman waved a disgusted hand over her shoulder. "I'm only here because I saw them out my window. Fuckin' idiots. No. We're much bigger than that."

She fished a card out of her pocket and handed it over.

"Madeline Roux. If you ever want to do something _real_, something that _matters_, give me a call. If not, don't bother - we've got more than enough slogan-shouting holiday members."

Harry glanced at the card and put it in his pocket. Part of him wanted to volunteer right now but a bigger part of him figured he'd be good for nothing _but_ slogan-shouting. She was obviously thinking more along the lines of him being a financier, anyway.

"Good to see you, Mike. Lemme know if you ever want a _real_ job."

Mike smiled stiffly. "Back at you, Mads."

The exchange had the ring of something often said. Harry got the impression that despite their friendship, they had a distinct difference in life philosophies. 

Then Mads - or Madeline - was wading back into the mass of green-shirted activists, yelling and confiscating poster boards.

Harry looked around the park again and sighed. He still didn't want to be cooped up at home, but he didn't want to be _here_ anymore, either. He was just about to say as much to Mike when he felt something tugging at his pants.

He looked down to find a tiny child looking straight back up at him. His - or her - dirty face was pale, but awed.

"Are you th' King Ar'fur?"

Harry blinked and lowered himself to a crouch. Now just above eye level for the kid - a girl, if the mangy pink boots were any sign - he asked her what she was talking about.

"_You_ know. Ar'fur. The magic king whos sleepin' 'cept you're not sleepin' an'more. Right? Buddy said you're him."

Harry followed her pointing finger to a couple of teenagers - about his own age, he'd guess - who were looking back at him anxiously. No, not at him - the kid. One of the teenagers was a boy, Harry guessed he was 'Buddy'. None of the three were wearing masks,

"Why would Buddy think I'm King Arthur?" Harry asked curiously, not taking his eyes off the other boy, who met his own and flinched.

"'Cause he saw you on da tv." The tiny girl replied matter-of-factly. Harry paused.

Oh shit. He'd forgotten that bloody reporter and his stupid shoulder gear. Had the whole world seen him wake up angry and lost?

"Well, I'm not King Arthur. Sorry." Harry replied, turning his attention back to the little girl just in time to see her slight frown deepen. "My name is Harry. What's yours?"

"Boxy." The girl said promptly, still frowning reproachfully. "My bru'fur's not a liar!"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "I didn't say he was." He soothed patiently. "It probably _was_ me that he saw on the telly. But, I don't know what they said about me. My name is Harry - not Arthur. And I'm not a king. I'm just a guy who fell asleep a long time ago and only just now woke up."

The girl brightened.

"Like Sleepin' Booty!" She declared.

"Er.." Harry tried.

The girl grabbed his hand and twisted around to shout at her brother.

"_He's not a king, he's a p'incess!_"

"Wha-?!"

Mike cleared his throat.

"Excuse me... your highness."

Harry glared up at him. Mike hid a smirk.  
"Just... Be careful. Kids around here can be trouble."

Harry bit back his first reply.

"I'll keep that in mind." He said after a moment. Mike just nodded.

Whilst they were talking, the two teens had edged closer although the girl hung back. The boy stepped forwards and crouched to tug the little girl into his arms.

"S-Sorry about this." He stammered, voice unexpectedly coarse. "I just looked away for a second, and..."

"It's fine." Harry said uncomfortably. "She's... cute." He stood and Buddy stood with him, lifting 'Boxy' to sit on his hip. The boy smiled a little, a soft expression for such a rough-looking guy.

"I... I hope you don' mind me askin'." Buddy continued softly, voice gravelly like a smoker's. "But... you _are_ who I think you are. Right?"

"No." Boxy answered for Harry, leaning her head glumly against her brother's. "He's _not_ King Ar'fur, he's P'incess Harry. Like Sleep'n Booty."

A hacking noise came from the left where the teenage girl still stood and Harry glanced over to see her hunched over like she was coughing - or laughing. Harry rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Actually, I'm neither. I'm Harry - just Harry." He held out a hand to shake. Buddy looked at it for a good second before cautiously taking it and shaking once.

"I'm Buddy." He replied, glancing at Mike. "And this is my sister, Boxy. That's my friend Mia." He nodded over at the girl who didn't say anything and didn't get any closer.  
"I know you must get asked this a lot, but..."

Harry waited as the boy seemed to struggle for words.

"Well... how did you do it? Are you... an alien? I mean, all the stations have different theories, but nobody knows anything... just that you were asleep for like a hundred years with no technology, and... was it a hoax? Was it..."

Harry looked at the other boy. Glanced over at the green-shirted people reluctantly breaking up their demonstration. Thought back to Mr Maine's cool acceptance - and dismissal - of everything that he was, of the fate of their world.

He made a decision.

"It was magic." He said honestly, ignoring the flicker of disappointment - of irritation - that followed his reply. Buddy didn't believe him. Maybe even thought he was being mocked.

Harry reached out with gentle fingers to tug at a curl of brown hair which had escaped Boxy's thick, tatty woollen cap.

"It was nice to meet you, Boxy." He said softly, as the hair beneath his fingertips changed colour.

He turned on his heel and left, Mike dogging his steps, as Buddy glanced at where he'd touched his sister and drew a shocked, painful-sounding breath. Harry knew that by now, the girl's entire head of hair would have been affected by the simple rainbow charm.

It was a tiny piece of magic, something any wizard over fifteen would have been capable of wandlessly let alone someone linked to the core of the planet the way _he_ was. Even then, though, he felt the drain.

"I'm in the mood for something that _isn't_ soup." He declared, as they vanished into the crowd back towards the train station. Mike chuckled.

"Can do, boss."

_**Earth**_


	7. Earth 6

Warning for pseudoscience. :) Also, potentially negative presentations of any country are not intended to be offensive or indicative of probable action.

And yeah, ff.n does not seem to like .doc files right now. Hmm.

_**Earth**_

Mike guided him through the streets, back past the shuttle station, to an area of denser, shorter buildings. Harry gathered that this was where his bodyguard was from, based on how familiar the man was with the place. It was also even _more_ crowded. Mike walked a half-step in front of him, one hand wrapped securely around his arm from the train to the underground restaurant that was their destination just to make sure Harry didn't get separated from him.

The restaurant itself was quite nice, if tired-looking. The floor rippled underfoot as if they were walking on water. Once sitting at a high, curved booth - it really cut down on the noise of other patrons - Harry could see from the side that the ripple effect was fake but the water underneath the floor was real. Mike actually cracked a grin when Harry discovered that the tabletop was interactive, showing options of all meals and drinks which were ordered by tapping on them. Once paid for - by pressing his watch against the table in a certain place - the glossy screen changed to a silent stream of four different tv channels which were all captioned and could be changed with a flick of a finger, along with a scrolling list of time-passing games.

The food, when it came, hadn't been Hogwarts standard by a long shot. But, it had been solid and had multiple textures and flavours and that was _more_ than good enough for him.

Then it had been back to the apartment, where Harry lavished attention on his slightly-less-sickly pot plants before retreating to his room to get away from the expanse of pollution-decay-grey outside his study window. (And, maybe, to put off his studies too.)

Now he was in his room, kneeling before the box marked 'potions'. He took the lid off for the first time and found a letter resting atop a mass of tiny glass rectangles. He picked the letter up with one hand and a glass box - about the size of his thumbnail - with the other. The letter almost immediately began to feel drier under his fingertips and the glass box abruptly expanded until it disappeared with a sharp popping sound, dumping a mass of black leaves onto his lap.

Frowning at them, he opened the letter.

_For the notice of Harry Potter, last scion of Wizardkind._

_Held within this case are samples from every magical plant and animal contained within our realm._

_These have been collected by the remaining members of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in conjunction with the Department of International Magical Cooperation._

_It is our hope that when the time of magic has come again, you will be able to restore these lost species. To aid you in this endeavour, we have added instructional materials to your primary repository. _

_Do not remove the individual cases until you have use for them. Doing so will cancel the enchantments upon them._

'Oops', Harry thought, looking down at the mess of leaves on his lap.

"Hey, uh, Harry?"

Harry glanced up and over to his window, where a small screen displaying Mike's face had popped up.

"You might wanna check this out." As he spoke, another screen popped open and enlarged. It was one of many news channels - but _this_ one was displaying a long lock of hair which was slowly changing colours.

"Oh... crud." Harry mumbled. Reflexively, part of him was trying to freak out about magic being exposed. Part of him _was_ a little concerned that the RDA would be shirty with him for the same reason but hey - they hadn't told him _not_ to go around telling people.

Mostly he was just nervous about how it'd be received. Would this be 'heir of Slytherin' all over again?

He stood, brushing off the leaves (he did feel a bit guilty about that, but he was pretty sure they were from a Devil's Snare anyway, so no great loss) and exited into the living room.

Mike was standing beside the tv so Harry leant against the back of the couch to continue watching the broadcast.

"_So far we've had volunteers from six separate scientific institutes and research facilities test the sample and all have confirmed that the phenomenon seems to be genuine, even if the cause of it remains elusive."_

A woman with more metal in her face than skin was speaking as she manipulated the lock of hair between her fingers. Harry could only guess it was like the old 'look, no wires!' gesture that Muggle magicians used to use, to try and prove their tricks were real. Along both the bottom and the top of the screen, four thin rows of text in different languages were scrolling updates and reminders. Judging by the English row, they were almost all about him.

"_Although several theories have been offered - from a new, smaller form of nanite to heat/light-reactive chemicals - all have been disproved almost immediately. Doctor Robert McKenzie of Progressive University is the first to put forward the theory that there may be some truth to the claim of 'magic' being the cause."_

The image cut to a man with a closely shaved head and a deep dent in his skull.

"_What __**is**__ magic, after all, but the name we give to processes and events that we cannot yet categorise scientifically? It's been a long-held theory that all of matter is essentially energy in one form or another. If this theory is true, then what has been done here could simply be a manipulation of the energy contained within the hair - or an application of very specific energy. The report - unverified - stated that the young man responsible caused this change by merely _touching_ the girl. By classical definition if nothing else, that could be termed 'magic'."_

The image cut back to the woman with too-much metal.

"_The RDA has so far declined to comment on the claim that the person responsible is none other than their legal ward and so-called 'King Arthur', Harry Potter. The claim is certainly difficult to dismiss, however, when considered in light of the young man's equally inexplicable and infamous awakening from a century and a half of sleep."_

The image changed again and Harry blanched to see _himself_ there. It was a shot of him sleeping in the hospital, black hair and lashes stark against the white of his bed and skin. He looked almost like a corpse, with only the slightest tinge of pink to his lips and barest movement of his chest to prove that he still lived. As he watched, however, the pink spread out and his eyes scrunched as he woke up. A deep, sudden breath and his eyes opened to reveal green orbs that almost immediately radiated despair.

Thankfully, the image cut back to the woman.

"_We've just had word that all samples of this strange effect appear to be experiencing a simultaneous change in timing." _The woman held the hair forward, a camera cutting to it obediently. The colours, which had previously been changing every half second, were now visibly changing more slowly.

Harry frowned. That wasn't right. The rainbow charm normally lasted for at least a week unless it was canceled...

Oh.

Of course.

He _had_ accounted for the state of the world when he'd cast the charm. He'd purposefully drawn the magic for the spell only from his own energy and not from the world around him or the core within him. For such a small piece of magic, it had been enough.

Enough to take hold. But he _hadn't_ accounted for the world's ambient magic being related to a spell's longevity.

"_Some early speculations are that it's an indication of the phenomenon coming to an end, or that the effect is being remote controlled in some way. Only time will tell._

_For now, researchers around the country will be scrambling to solve this 'magical' puzzle."_

"Mute." Harry called wearily, as the woman turned to other topics.

Mike, still standing by the screen, turned to look at him.

"I hope you have a plan, boss."

Harry snorted and climbed over the back of the couch to sit on it cross-legged.

"Only in the vaguest sense." He confessed. "Mr Maine thinks the world is past fixing - and doesn't care. He wants me to focus on science stuff and maybe be helpful that way, but... it would take years_ - decades - _before I got to the level where I could maybe keep up with all the scientists today. I'm no brainiac."

"From the context, I'll assume that means 'really smart'."

"Yeah. And, more than that, I'm just one person. It would be impossible for me to research everything, _think_ of everything. But, if the knowledge of magic is out there... if several billion people are thinking about it..."

Mike rubbed his nose and sighed.

"Yeah, I get it. But boss... Potter._ Harry_. Several billion people _knowing_ puts you in more danger. The RDA are smart enough to know that dissecting you ain't gonna achieve anything, but others won't be. Not to mention the fanatics who will seize your ability as some kind of divine gift they want a piece of. You can be killed just as easily by worshippers as murderers."

Harry grimaced. "I don't _want_ worshippers." He said sourly. "And it would be stupid _to_ worship me. You saw that charm slowing down... less than a day and it's already running out of power. I'm basically useless."

Mike's face darkened and he crossed to Harry in two strides, sank to one knee before him and gripped his upper arms, _hard_.

"Harry, _listen to me_. Reality doesn't mean jack _shit_ to some people. You need to always be careful, always be _aware_ that not everyone thinks the way you do. I promise you, right now, there is someone in this country - maybe even this city - already planning to kill you."

Harry swallowed.

"Oh." He said, voice small. He lowered his eyes, breathing out his guilt. Mike seemed convinced that an attack on him was inevitable... and if it were, then Harry had just put his bodyguard at increased risk.

"I'm sorry." He said honestly, looking up to catch his guard's eye. "I didn't mean to put us in danger. _More_ danger. I just..."

Mike snorted and let go.

"Yeah, I know. I was sixteen once too. And don't apologise - this is my job. I ain't worried for me, kid. I'm worried for you. All it takes is me not being fast enough - or already down - and you're defenceless."

Harry looked down again, this time because he didn't know what to say. He'd had guards before, but... they'd never been quite like Mike.

A sudden chirping sounded and Harry looked up at the tv screen and then around to the kitchen to see what was making the noise.

Mike chuckled and got to his feet.

"It's your watch, boss. Give a yell if you need anything."

Harry sheepishly smiled and tapped at the face of his watch, which was flashing as well as chirping. He lifted his finger to his ear just as Mike entered his bedroom to give him some privacy.

"_Hey, Harry?"_

Harry lay back on his sofa.

"Hey, Dave. I guess you saw, huh?"

_Earth_

Whatever Harry had been expecting - enraged CEO of the RDA, manhunts, calls for bringing back witch-burning - it didn't quite turn out that way.

David had mostly been annoyed that he hadn't even called to let him know what he'd done. As Harry's liaison/case worker, it was his job to be on top of all PR stuff and he didn't like being caught off guard when the press came knocking. The press themselves seemed to mostly be viewing the incident in a positive light. Within a couple of days the sample of hair had stopped changing colour entirely and no scientist had discovered how it was done although a couple claimed to have been able to detect extremely minor radiation from the strands given to them for study. Since the amount of radiation they claimed to have detected could also be found in practically everything, they were generally ignored.

Harry had wondered aloud why Buddy had gone to the press so quickly and Mike had been blunt with his answer.

"Because they ain't got nothin' else. The reason I wanted you to be careful was because they were street kids. You never know when one of them will be stupid enough - or desperate enough - to try something."

Harry turned to look at him. Once again he was sprawled out on the couch and Mike was taking up the other, slightly smaller one.

"...How did you know they were street kids? And do you mean that literally? They live on the streets?"

Mike shrugged. "Yeah, of course. Nowhere else for 'em. And you can generally spot a street kid by the fact that they ain't washed in too long... and of course, they didn't have no masks either."

Harry frowned, remembering. He hadn't really noticed it at the time because to him, _not_ wearing a mask was still normal, but... Wait, did that mean?

"Was that why Buddy sounded like... you know?"

"Yeah." Mike sounded sympathetic. "It happens, when you're exposed too much. You get sick and die eventually, but the first thing to go is the throat and lungs. His vocal chords are probably deteriorating. I've heard worse, and younger, though."

Harry stared.

"And that's just... normal?" He asked weakly. "There's no... government-provided health-care, or free masks, or-or shelter or _anything_?"

Mike shot him a weary smile.

"Your time must've been nice, boss. That kinda stuff hasn't been seen here for so long that almost nobody even thinks it _should_ be. Besides, you know. Overpopulation. Over-crowded cities. High rates of crime and disease... a lot of people consider it natural selection. One small way of thinning the herd. That, and war, is all we've really got. I heard China selectively culled a third of their population once, but that's never been substantiated."

Harry made a sound of vague acknowledgement, looking around at his apartment. Here he was, lazing about in an expensive home provided for free, and people like Buddy and... Mia?... and little Boxy were out in the open with no more attention than people waiting impatiently for them to die.

And what was he doing, to be worth all this? Worth a bodyguard and media scrutiny?

Nothing really. Existing, maybe.

He sighed.

"I'mna get back to work." He said, levering himself up from the couch and walking downstairs to his study. As he did, he heard the weird blurt of music that heralded Mike receiving a call. Judging by the irritated sound he made, it was probably Madeline again.

The bulky eco activist woman had been hounding her old friend ever since the news had hit and she'd put together their meeting with the images of him in the hospital. She'd been sceptical at first but the unwise confirmation from an exasperated Mike had only added fuel to the fire. Now she seemed convinced that Harry could be the key to whatever they were planning and was demanding and pleading in turns for the man to set up a meeting ASAP.

Mike had refused, over and over again. Every time he got shorter, until eventually he just started declining her calls entirely.

"Goddamn Mad Cow." Harry heard him mutter, making him grin as he entered his study.

_Earth_

Education was a pain in the bum once it hit secondary. Especially the maths and English units. Science was still surprisingly all right - everything built on everything else and everything seemed to make sense. It was progressing slower than the primary level stuff, but at least it didn't fill him with frustrated rage like maths did.

The society and history units weren't bad either. Sometimes they were interesting and the computer showed him a lot of documentaries and movies. Sometimes it even had games for him to play, which supposedly taught him something, though he wasn't sure what.

Still, it was a lot of information to muddle through and Harry spent a lot of time walking circuits of his study or browsing his digital library of magic books or tending to his plants.

After several weeks of care, attention and probably too much water, they were looking downright lush. Harry supposed it was mostly thanks to not being outside in the pollutant-heavy air, but he liked to think some of it was down to him too.

He was just stroking one long, smooth, deep green leaf when the door to his study slid unexpectedly open. He jolted, the computer program recognising the interruption and pausing as well.

David smiled and knocked on the door frame.

"Sorry, it wasn't locked. May I?"

"Yeah, of course." Harry waved him over to the set of three one-seater couches. "Hub: Second view, please."

The entire window obediently switched to a full-screen, insanely high quality moving image of a massive stretch of hills and valleys. Long green grass and golden wheat rippled in slow, languorous waves. In the distance, a tiny village glowed under a bright sun. Puffy white clouds drifted over a deep blue sky.

It was a beautiful lie, and probably one that a lot of people had displayed on their window instead of the real view. Harry had been searching for something closer to the view from Gryffindor tower but hadn't found it yet.

He took the chair facing the liaison and lifted his eyebrows.

"Sick of it yet?" David asked sympathetically, though not quite able to hide his smile. 'It' being Harry's condensed education program. Harry rolled his eyes and slumped.

"_Yes_." He groused. "But, I can't... just..." He sighed. "I mean. I have to do _something_, or what's the point of being awake? What's the point of being _alive?_ But... this 'getting an education' stuff... Merlin, Dave, it feels useless. Nothing I do with it will make a difference. But, what else is there _to_ do, you know?"

"Well, since you asked..." David grinned. "And thanks for such a good opening, by the way."

He handed over several thin, plastic sheets. The disposable fliers of the future. Each one displayed a program for a different tv show - dates, guests, target demographic plus a whole host of information he didn't bother to look at.

"You... want me to join a live audience?" Harry asked doubtfully. He recognised one or two names. 'Mary Jane' - that was this time's Oprah. And 'On the couch with Brian Hicks' was like every late-night comedy talk show he'd ever overheard from his cupboard. The rest of them were just words to him. Some were glaringly neon and others were boringly black and white.

"Not exactly." David sat back and grinned. "Every show in your hand there has sent the RDA requests to have you _on_ their show. As a guest."

Harry paused. The look he levelled at his liaison spoke volumes on how he felt about that.

David paled a bit. "Oh come on." He protested. "It's not that bad! And a lot of them are offering some pretty plump incentives."

"To be a bloody show pony?!" Harry exploded, leaping to his feet and letting the fliers scatter on the floor. "To sit there and smile and talk about how the world used to have a species that could do magic and oh, by the way, _your_ species _killed_ it? And that I want to help fix the mess you've made but I _can't_ because I'm bloody _useless_?"

"You're not useless!" David objected. Harry barely heard him.

"Or is this some PR thing? Look everyone, the pet wizard of the RDA is still alive and breathing. Ask nicely and he'll perform some minor charm and then need to eat his weight in food to make up for it."

"Harry." David was exasperated now. "You're making too big a deal about this. The RDA doesn't give two bolts whether you go on a talk show or not. It's really kind of expected that you will sooner or later, if only to stave off boredom, but so long as you don't actively slander the company they have _no_ interest in it."

Harry eyed him, then sat back down with a sigh. Glumly, he bent to collect the sheets of plastic.

"...I'm sorry." He said after a moment. "I guess I'm just..."

"Scared?" David offered. "You sound like it."

Harry glared. "I'm not scared." He argued weakly. "It's just... the only reason they want me is because of the magic thing, right? But I can't really do that anymore. So... the whole thing would just be a waste of time. And embarrassing. I'm not about to volunteer myself to be gawked at, either."

"Okay." David soothed. "Okay. Well, look, it's not like you _have_ to go to any of them. But I gotta say, if you want to get your message out... there really isn't a better way."

Harry stilled.

"One run of news on a phenomenon that was over quickly, had no successful study done on it and the cause of which was hearsay does _not_ a convincing argument make." David pressed softly. "And some of the fringe scientists have begun making noises that will only further discredit what you are and what you can do, the more people hear them. You've made it pretty plain to me, Mike _and_ the RDA that you don't mind exposing what you can do if it helps fix the world."

Harry sighed, knowing what was coming.

"Sounds to me, Harry, that if you really mean that... it's time to step up and prove it."

He scowled. It felt like more of a pout. He lifted the sheaf of fliers to his face, flicking through them disinterestedly.

"...This Mary Jane woman seems nice." He said grudgingly.

"She _is_ nice." David seemed relieved to roll with it. "I was going to suggest her. Decent following, a lot of positive regard and she tends to remind people about things she cares about. If you can convince her, you'll get a lot of payback for it."

"...I don't really know these others, though..." Harry dropped the fliers onto the coffee table. There were so _many_. No way was he going on all of them - if nothing else, he'd look like an egotistical twit.

"There's time to find out." David said easily. "I'll queue your hub to play all your offers on a custom channel. Let you see what kind of shows they run, what kind of guests they have and how they're treated. It'll help you shortlist them, at least."

Harry nodded, privately thinking that the list would be zero. Really, the only reason he was even considering Mary Jane was because of the association with Oprah.

"...What the hell would I even talk about?" He wondered bleakly. "How will I know what to say and when? I'm not exactly promoting a book or anything."

David laughed.

"You let Mary Jane handle that - it's her _job_ to get a conversation going." He picked up his PDA and began tapping away. "And besides, you'll probably do a pre-interview first. It lets you both get comfortable and aware of what you'll probably be talking about. I'll send her your tag, too, and the two of you can chat all you want before even that."

"My tag?" Harry parroted, before remembering. This had been covered in one of his IT units. It was actually illegal now to have more than three 'tags'. One for work, one for personal use and one for miscellaneous.

"Oh, email. Right, right. My, um.. personal tag?" He really should check them, one of these days.

"Nah, RDA for now. Safer. I doubt Mary Jane would ever pass it on, but all it takes is her system being cut, you know?"

"Sure." Harry said blankly. Well, he'd wanted something to do, right?

"Oh, by the way... what do you know about the 'Global Liberation Front'?"

David looked up with a frown. "Them? Why do you.. never mind. The GLF, huh? Well, they're not as bad as some, but they're worse than others. They have a lot of smart people working in their R&D department but... well, they've got a lot of crazies too. The Weyerhaeuser bombing? That was them. Or, officially, it was a fringe group claiming _affiliation_ with them, but really it was theirs. The problem is, they've got a lot of _very_ dedicated people. And their leaders... they all think differently. They're smart enough to disavow association when people start dying, but everyone knows that they were involved at one point or another."

Harry thought about that, staring out over the fake landscape.

"...Do they do any good?"

David snorted.  
"Hell yeah, they do. It's the only reason they haven't been shut down. Pretty much every advance in water and air filtration has come out of their labs. They were responsible for global food production meeting demand. They also increased efficiency of several major power sources right when the energy crisis hit, and they got a lot of good press for that. It's been dropping lately, though. People remember bombs more than they remember cheaper, reusable masks."

"Hmmm."

"Hey." David said suddenly, staring at the side of the window. No, not the window. The pot plant resting in the corner. "What the hell did you do to that thing? It looks great!"

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I held one-sided conversations with it." He said wryly. "Added water. Nothing special."

"Really?" David asked admiringly. "Would you, uh... like some more?"

Harry sat up, a little surprised at how much he _would_, actually.

"Yes! Please. I mean, if it's not too expensive."

David waved a hand. "No, no. Nothing too bad. Especially if you don't mind nursing them back to health."

Harry nodded happily and David's gaze flickered from the plants to him and back before the man pushed himself to his feet.

"Well, I'd better get back to the office. You should probably do some research." He nodded at the plastic fliers with a conspiratorial smile. "It's a little more important than essay-dictating."

"But not any less painful." Harry joked absently, going more from his perception of daytime talk shows than any real experience. Most of his attention was wondering how soon he'd get the promised plants, followed by the thought of whether or not he could grow some magical plants if he let the RDA - or even the GLF labs - have the seeds. Maybe he could 'feed' magic plants what they couldn't absorb from the world?

Vaguely, he realised that David was gone and he called for the window to be reset to normal. Thick sunset met him so he scooped up the fliers and went to find some dinner.

Maybe he _would _agree to a meeting with Madeline.

Maybe they could help each other.

_**Earth**_


End file.
